Nightmares and Dreamscapes
by diva.gonzo
Summary: The trio escape Malfoy Manor, and Ron has to cope with what has happened to Hermione. Problems ensure when Bill and Fleur try to heal her. Book inspired, with some twists. Later chapters are Ron-centric along with appearances from Luna (and Harry if he will cooperate. He broods). Rated T (should have a T plus for language and medical gore not necessarily appropriate for kids.)
1. Waking Nightmare

Nightmares and Dreamscapes

**disclaimer: Sure I share a name with JK Rowling, but I am certainly not her, don't have her bank account, nor her poise in public speaking. Anything I write in her world is for fun, practice, and to get my own story telling skills back up to personal par. Plot lines might be mine, but the characters are hers for a really long time.**

(A/N - title borrowed from the Stephen King book by the same name. -D.G.)

***********************************

"I'm sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."

Ron stood there, disarmed, yet furious at the turn of events. Hermione was his, and Bellatrix was not going to hand her over to Greyback. Not even over his dead body. He could never forgive himself if he didn't do something to keep her from that bastard's hands. Ron knew that monster's cruelty knew no limits.

A squeak, followed by a grinding that was pervasive in the otherwise sterile and yet elegant room, tore through it. All eyes looked up, and there was Dobby, eyes wide and a grin to light a room. One twist from his elf magic hands, and the chandelier started to fall.

Ron stood there, fixed to the floor, and watched in slow motion as the chandelier fell. He knew that he couldn't get to her in time. Fear was his mind killer. He wanted to act, but was paralyzed. There was still too much danger at the moment to try and rescue her. Another moment where he would hate himself for a lifetime: letting her suffer pain that he couldn't prevent.

The antique chandelier fell, impacting Hermione square on the back. She didn't move. She didn't cry out. She didn't even flinch when the forty pounds of metal and glass hit her. Crystals shattered, spraying the room upon impact. Draco, being closest, was hit. His face dripped blood immediately through his pale white fingers. Griphook fared worse, but Hermione took the brunt.

Reacting to the chaos, Ron ran forward. He didn't care that Bellatrix and Narcissa were still armed. That didn't matter. All that did was rescuing Hermione from Bellatrix. Nothing else mattered. Not even Harry. His life was forfeit if she was damaged permanently.

He yanked the chandelier from the victims, not caring for anyone else in the room save his unconscious bushy haired everything. He gripped her tightly, pulling her close to his chest. He couldn't tell if she was breathing or not. He didn't know if he was hurting her. He only knew that they had to escape.

Harry told him that He-Who-Stinks-to-High-Heaven was almost there and they had to run. They couldn't fight him without her. She was the brains of the bunch, and without her, everything would go to hell in a pile of dragon dung. They had to flee. There was no choice.

"Ron!"

Ron turned, and caught the wand that Harry threw at them. That would be necessary for escape. He spun, hoping on Merlin's baggiest y fronts that they made it to Shell Cottage in one piece. He didn't care about himself – just her. He held her for dear life, focusing completely on the cottage outside Tintham.

He landed hard, falling on his knees with her still in his arms. The pain was temporary if she didn't wake. He wouldn't survive her long if she didn't wake. He slipped, and she fell into the cold sand beneath his feet.

"HELP! Bill, Help!"

"Whose there?" a dangerous voice called out. "Show yourself!"

"Bill! Fleur!" Help us!"

"Ron?"

"Bill!"

"What's your worst fear?"

"Spiders!"

Bill stepped out from the wards, and ran to Ron on the beach. Fleur was on his heels, wearing her evening apron, covered in flour from baking. "Qu'est que C'est?"

"Hermione? What the Hell?" bellowed Bill when he saw who Ron was cradling.

"Yea. Help her!"

"Bring her in. We'll see what we can do."

Ron handed her to his brother, and then promptly retched into the beach scrub on his other side. From no food, and the adrenaline rush, he was spiraling. He wanted to purge out every last bit of rage and fury from what happened to Hermione. Beating Greyback with his bare hands would be fine. He wanted to go back there, and beat them to death for hurting Hermione.

He thought about that first step, walking away from her again to exact revenge. He retched again.

She needed him, regardless of how angry he was. He needed to know if she was still alive.

His vengeance would have to wait for another day. She needed him.

He scrubbed his sleeve across his mouth, not concerned at the foul stench that he wiped on his sleeve nor the mess he made in the scrub on the beach. He looked up into the moonlight, and saw Fleur standing above him, watching with tears in her eyes. "Mon chere!" she hauled him into a hug. "Come inside. 'ermione needs us."

She turned, and briskly walked back to the front of the cottage. Ron ran after her once he knew his knees wouldn't buckle on the rough stone walkway. They rushed towards the cottage, passing the wards, and were greeted with warm light from the kitchen. The smell of hot baked bread assailed his nostrils once he was inside. His stomach grumbled in protest.

Bill's bright hair stood out in the den, leaning over Hermione. "Ron, get in here!" he yelled.

Another resounding pop pervaded the silence outside the wards. "Fleur, go check outside for others. I have to save Hermione!"

"That should be Harry and the hostages!" Ron bellowed as Fleur ran out into the night. They heard the kitchen door bang as she ran outside.

Ron came closer, seeing that his brother was holding a flannel as a compress against her neck. "Here, hold this while I get something to help her."

He stood there, watching his brother look at him. "Damn it Ron, help her. Move your arse! I can't do anything if you're standing there frozen!"

Ron moved, falling to his knees at the edge of the couch. He took the blood soaked flannel from his hand, holding it on her grotesquely stained neck. Bill left, and Ron could hear him rummaging in the cabinets looking for potions. He looked down, seeing her for the first time in the harsh light of the parlor, and was shocked at how pale and gaunt she was. Where had the Hermione he knew gone to, and replaced her with this skeleton? He fought down the panic that was trying to betray him.

He watched in horror how the blood continued to seep into the flannel, leaking past it through his long fingers onto the pillow behind his head. Panic ensued.

"Damn it Bill, hurry up. She's bleeding here!"

Bill pushed back past him, bringing a thicker pad along with a potion vial for her. "Here, we need to change this, and put this on her neck. I tried to heal the wound on her neck, but it's resistant to magic. It looks like a goblin knife, the way it resists magic. I'll have to seal it, and let it scar. It's the only way."

Ron removed his hand along with the blood soaked rag, and saw Bill working quickly. He wiped her neck with the new flannel, and saw it oozing down her neck onto the pillow behind her head. He then opened the vial, and dropped dittany on it, hearing the wound sizzle under the liquid.

"Shite, Dittany isn't working. Scared that was going to be the case. Give me that kit there, Ron."

Ron handed him a sewing kit, something his mother would use.

"Put the flannel back on. Hold the pressure on there. I have to work quickly."

"What the hell?"

"Remember when Dad got bit? Same thing. Only thing I can to do staunch the bleeding. Goblin silver is resistant to magic – and needs to heal normally. Only way we can save her, along with blood replenishing potions."

He worked quickly, threading coarse fibers through the skin on her neck, trying to stave off the wound. Tedious work, along with constant cleaning on Ron's part, and within minutes, the wound was closed. Four blood stained flannels were on the floor, evidence of their work. The stitching wasn't pretty. It was three inches of angry red skin, jagged and puckered, right along the tendon on the right side of her neck.

Bill affixed a bandage over the wound, using spellotape on it to seal it further. It wouldn't make the grade at St. Mungo's, but Moody might have been impressed. It was his suggestion that he learn muggle first aid training years ago, after Arthur was bit and couldn't be healed by magic. Thank Merlin he listened.

"She's fortunate it only grazed the artery. Another half inch and she'd have bled out on the beach. Now come on, grab her, and let's get her in a bed upstairs. We'll need to check her for anything else."

Ron looked up, and saw Bill standing behind him. "If we can wake her, I can give her some potions to make better and let her sleep. But down here won't work. She needs quiet and we can ward it if necessary."

Ron stood up and lifted Hermione from the couch. The fatigue was clawing at him. "I'll carry her. I rather have you help her otherwise."

Bill watched, and noticed the blood dripping from her arm. "Put her back down. She's still bleeding."

Ron laid her back down, and moved out of the way. He watched as Bill gently moved the sleeve up her arm, hissing when he saw the additional wound.

"Merlin's Bollocks!"

He wiped the blood from her arm, showing Bellatrix handiwork. Carved in the tender skin of her arm was the word Mudblood. "That bitch." He whispered. "Ron, run into the kitchen and get me more flannels. Hurry!"

Ron scampered out, finding the stash in the spice cupboard. "Here!" once he got back to Bill's side.

"Keep that on there. I need my other kit from my en-suite. Don't take that off until I get back."

Seconds felt like hours, waiting for his brother to return. He watched as the white flannel turned red under his fingers. He watched her neck pulse opposite of where they had patched her. Each beat a sign she was still alive.

Ron kept the compress on her arm, praying to whatever deity would listen that she could hold on until they could get her healed up. He hoped she didn't move, or jerk, or any other sudden movements.

Bill returned, carrying bottles and a pack of pads. "Hold her arm steady. I'm going to clean it, and then dress it. I am going to assume that the bitch used the knife to do this too."

"I dunno. Didn't see her do that one." Ron whispered back. "Harry and I were… elsewhere."

Ron watched in fascination how calm his brother worked. He couldn't have done it, not like Hermione patched him after Yaxley made him splinch.

Bill washed the arm, removing the caked on blood, and cleaning out the sand grit that had embedded in it. Once clean, he put two pads on it, then covered it then wrapped it. She was slowly turning into a mummy.

"Looks like that is the worst of it. Come on. We'll put her in with Luna in the fourth bedroom. You remember that one, right?"

Ron leaned over again, and picked her gently for up a third time. His back groaned from the exertion, but he was too tired to be arsed. Fighting tears, he saw her small frame, shrunken from the stress of everything that happened the last few months. Her appearance made a difficult picture: The tear tracks on her dirt smudged face; the shadows under her eyes; the hard lines of her cheek bones. "Please wake!" he wailed silently.

Fleur came in, not quite as pale as Hermione was. She was carrying Griphook who had the sword in his clutches. She went ahead of them, struggling up the stairs with the goblin and the sword in his talon tipped hands. Bill went after her, carrying the potion vials in his hands, while Ron went last, gently carrying the unconscious Hermione to the fourth bedroom.

Luna was standing at the window, looking out into the night. She was still clothed in the rags of her clothes she was rescued in. Ron stumbled, realizing it had only been minutes since they got away, not the hours he felt like he had gone through.

She turned and saw the group of them come in, watching in interest as Ron laid Hermione down on the double bed. "Hello Ronald. Oh dear! What happened to Hermione?"

"Bellatrix, followed by a chandelier falling on her."

"Oh goodness, that's dreadful." She squeezed his hand. "She'll come back for you, Ronald. She loves you."

He barely heard her as she left the room. He only had eyes for Hermione, haphazardly lying on the bed. The patch on her neck and the bandage on her arm stood out against her pale skin. There was activity throughout the cottage, but his only concern was the bushy haired witch in front of him. Red and blonde hair went back and forth through the hallway, but he barely noticed. He didn't care what happened, at least until Hermione awoke. Grief was tearing apart his teaspoon.

More minutes passed, and Ron felt his eyes getting heavy. He was hungry and he hadn't slept for a day. None of it mattered until she woke. He wanted to close his eyes, but his duty to Hermione wouldn't let him sleep.

Fleur returned, bearing more flannels and vials. "What's wrong?" he asked through his grief stricken fog.

"Dobby's dead. Seems that someone stabbed him." said Fleur harshly. "'arry is still out there with 'im."

"Damn," said Ron quietly. "I'll go out when I can. I can't leave her."

"Take your time. He won't hear you. He's busy digging Dobby's grave."

"Oh."

"The goblin? Dean? Mr. Ollivander?"

"Dean, Luna, and the goblin will live. Ollivander, Je sais pas. I don't know."

Ron felt a warm hug from behind, knowing that his brother wasn't that affectionate. He did feel a strong hand on his shoulder. Ron looked up, and saw the concern on his brother's face. Bill was the one he trusted, the one who stood in for him when his other brothers got too rough with him. He was the one who helped when Mum and Dad couldn't.

Another strong squeeze on his shoulder, and Bill left, leaving the other two in the room.

"What 'appened to her, Ronald?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange. Tortured her. Used the Cruciatus curse on her – repeatedly. Carved her like a steak. They had us in a magic proof dungeon. Couldn't do anything," said Ron angrily. "She was screaming, and I couldn't stop'em hurting her. That bitch tortured her, and I couldn't protect her!"

He put his head in his hands, fighting the maelstrom in his head. He had to be strong, for Hermione. She wasn't awake yet. Later. 'Fleur wouldn't understand,' said the locket voice inside his head. 'Hermione would,' said the little voice alongside the other. He couldn't break, not yet.

He viciously wiped his face with his torn sleeve, willing whatever strength he had left. "We only got out and away because of Dobby. A free elf, who came to rescue us, and how do we repay him? By getting him killed." He looked up at Fleur, and saw that she was struggling too. He had no solace or comfort to offer her, not when Hermione needed him more.

He looked back at Hermione, wishing she would wake. Instead, her hand twitched.

"She moved!" he thought through the grief and fatigue. "'Mione, come on love. Wake up for me."

"Ron," she groaned through the haze.

Fleur turned around, watching the scene unfold in front of her.

"I'm here. Come on and wake up for me, please." Ron was pleading.

"Oh G_d no. Ron!" She wimpered again. "Please!" she begged.

"'Mione, I'm here. No one's hurting you."

"No!" she screamed

Ron grabbed her arms, trying to restrain her wailing. "Oh G_d 'Mione, wake up!" he bellowed.

She let out a throat wrenching scream, enough to bring the house down. Even under the two of them, she writhed like a dragon.

Fleur moved, shoving Ron out of the way. She held onto Hermione's shoulders, while Ron held her legs down, trying to restrain her so he wouldn't be kicked in the face. Hermione screamed again, agony boiling from her lungs.

"You, get out of here."

"I'm not leaving her."

She seized up, almost throwing them off of her, before crashing back to the bed, passed out from the pain again. Ron's own chest hurt from trying to hold down such a tiny woman. He was sure he caught a foot in the shoulder for his trouble.

Fleur let her go, and noticed the blood on the duvet.

"Beel!" she yelled, trying to get her husband's attention. "She's bleeding. We need to help her!"

He was in shock, still remembering her screaming. "I'll do it." He whispered.

"Then help me! I need to check her for any injuries. S'il ti plait? Strip her. I need to make sure she isn't hurt anywhere else."

"Strip her?" he whispered.

"Oui. I need to check her for any other injuries."

"Why not banish her clothes?"

"I can't risk it, not if she was tortured." said Fleur as she was trying to wrestle Hermione out of her jumper. "Dark Magic leaves nasty traces on occasion."

He didn't want to see her like that, his object of his fantasies for years, but he didn't want his brother seeing her like this too. "Sod it. She'll understand," he muttered.

He thought as he gently worked, disrobing her of her shoes and socks. Numb from the trauma and forgetting the need, he quickly yanked off her jeans, barely leaving her in her travel worn pink knickers. He looked and saw Fleur had her down to her stained white bra. Ron was riveted – that any other time, he would have been embarrassed to see that much skin. Instead, all he saw was the blood soaked clothes on the floor, and the blood weeping into the coverlet of the bed.

"Mon Dieu!" muttered Fleur from higher up on the bed. "Merde!"

"What –" before he could even complete the thought. His concern turned to rage in an instant. Bellatrix had hurt her worse than he thought. "What the hell!" was all he could mutter.

Fleur started muttering in French while waving her wand over Hermione's battered body. Ron didn't know how bad she was hurt until he saw her on the bed.

Hermione looked like a battered quilt of bruises and burns and scars. He didn't even count the arm and neck where she had been patched up. From the dried blood on her collar line from the point of the blade held by Bellatrix, to the myriad of punctures on her back from the impaled crystals, to the angry red marks on her ribcage from the stunners, to finally the scorch mark on her chest, overlapping the scar from the Ministry duel. 'That might have been the first scream,' he thought. Her whole back was an abstract of bruises, from almost black, to purple, to caramel pudding light brown, to sickening yellow. The sickening yellow bothered him the most. She never mentioned to him that she had been hurt since he came back. She never complained nor showed weakness.

"Hush. You hold her on her side. I can fix most of it. Just be quiet, and hold her still. If she moves much more, she will hurt worse. " She intoned quietly.

He did as asked and watched as she pulled the crystal shards from her back, watching each one weep further with removal. She followed them with a drop of dittany to seal it from bleeding further. She was like Bill, working methodically over her entire back. So much crystal had embedded, and needed removal. Once that was finished, he gently rolled her back onto the bed. She still didn't stir.

Next was burn on her chest. "I need more dittany, some skele-gro and some of the burn paste in the loo cabinet. You stay and I'll go get it."

"Skele-gro?"

"Oui, ma cher. She has broken ribs and a broken collarbone. I cannot mend her magically, not without possibly hurting her further. She needs potions, and rest, and from the looks of her, plenty to eat."

"Why not with magic?"

"Side effects of the Cruciatus curse are hard to deal with in l'hopital, much less at le maison_._ She will take longer to heal, but I won't hurt her further this way."

All Ron could do was nod while Fleur left the room. He knelt at the bed, holding her warm hands in his cold clammy ones.

"Come now, Ron. Let's get those bruises and burns healing."

Fleur handed him an open jar of paste "What the bloody hell Fleur? Smells like dragon dung!"

"Just put it on her chest. It's burn paste and will help her heal quicker."

"You're joking. I can't touch her there!"

"Fine then. I'll slather her. I have no problem touching a girl's chest." She muttered. She commenced to slather on the paste. "Drop some of that dittany on those small cuts on her arms. I'll deal with the rest of it."

She thrust the bottle at Ron, who was looking dumbfounded. "Look. Drop it on her arms, then I want you to sleep. You're dead on your feet." She growled.

"I won't go. I need to be here when she wakes up."

"You're no good to anyone if you can't follow directions." Fleur was muttering again, which Ron didn't understand. Most of it was in French, and he certainly didn't understand a word of that. The only thing he understood was something about silly boys.

She stopped, and looked at him. Her temper had settled into resignation. "Fine. Sleep in here with her. Give this to her if she wakes. This one is a blood replenishing potion. This one, it's for pain, and the other is to sleep. She needs to sleep as long as possible so she can get better."

Hermione sat up in the bed suddenly, shocking the two of them. "NO!" she screamed.

Ron reacted first, thrusting his face in front of hers while restraining her with his bulk. "Look at me! It's me, Ron!" he bellowed near panic. He hoped he wasn't bruising her terribly.

She looked, seeing his face. She froze. Her eyes were as wide as an elf. "You're safe," he whispered.

He wanted to jump for joy at seeing her awake. He wanted to cry at her misery. He wanted to hug her for the rest of his life, and yell at her for being so bloody stubborn.

"Water," her eyes belayed her panic.

Ron held a small glass up for her, letting her have small sips. "Shhhh. I got it." She couldn't hold the glass in her hands for shaking terribly. "Take it slow."

"Where?"

"You're safe. We're at Bill and Fleur's."

"What happened?"

"We escaped from Malfoy Manor." She quivered. "You remember, 'Mione?"

Her shaking increased in intensity, and she was curling back into herself. "N'ermind. Here. Drink this. Blood replenishing potion."

She took it, shaking growing worse. He held it steady, letting her swallow it completely.

"Now this. Pain potion." She couldn't hold it for shaking too bad. Even when she tried to swallow it, she nearly choked.

"Last one. You'll need it too."

"What?"

"Sleeping Draught."

He held the last vial to her as well, tipping the glass to her painfully parched lips.

"Ron—"

"You sleep. Harry and I have some things to do around here. I'll be here when you wake."

She nodded, and her eyes started to close. The last two vials of liquid worked together effectively. She fell back onto the pillows, already succumbing to the effects of the potion cocktail.

He sat there on the bed with her, watching her chest raise and fall. She was finally resting comfortably. He wanted to tuck her under all of the covers, but he was afraid to touch her, with all of her scars, burns, breaks, and bruises. Even looking just this side of death, he was enchanted.

"Ron, Harry's still out there digging. Go help him," said Bill from the doorway.

Ron didn't budge from his seat. "I'm not leaving 'til she wakes back up. "

"Mon chere, I shall take care of her. You go, and help 'arry. If she wakes, I'll come get you," said Fleur quietly. "Go, and help him. She doesn't need you right now, but 'arry does. She'll be here when you get done."

Ron still didn't budge. "Not leavin' her 'gain."

A soft hand on his shoulder made him turn around. Luna was standing there, looking serious for once. He hadn't seen the expression on her face since the night at the Ministry. "Ronald, you trust me, right?" he nodded. "I'll stay. I'll keep watch while you're helping Harry."

He looked in her bright blue eyes. They were tired, but strong, determined. "'S'ok. I'll go out and help Harry. You will?"

Bright blue eyes looked up at him, eyes that were haunted now instead of humorous. "On my life, Ron."

He turned to leave, trusting his friends and family.

(Footnote: Quotes from Deathly Hallows, American Edition)


	2. Seeds of Doubt

Ch2 Seeds of Doubt

* * *

Nothing made sense.

_No! Oh G_d please stop! No!_

Pain. A burning sensation across her chest.

Beyond that is fuzzy, like an out of focus video.

Pain.

Questions that made no sense. Relief from pain.

Seeing Draco Malfoy looking at her in fear.

Answers she believed. Truth given.

Pain.

More questions. Relief from pain. Answers that made no sense.

Brown bushy hair in her face, stinking of sherry and sweat.

Pain.

Stench filled breath assailed her nose. The tang of sweat, blood, and testosterone battered her senses, making her retch from it.

More pain.

Darkness beckoned.

* * *

A scream ripped from her throat.

Fenir Greyback whispering in her ear, threats should she survive Bellatrix. Both were hideous in their own way.

Pain. Teeth tore at her throat, tearing the skin. She felt the blood seeping from the gaping wound.

Pain.

More poured from her arm, her back.

Blood filled her mouth, choking her.

Something coarse, cold, and wet smothered her face. She tried to spit, and it went down her throat.

Chalk bound her lips. She couldn't scream from the pain because of it.

"It's the only way."

She tried to scream before the comfort of oblivion welcomed her in death.

* * *

'So cold'. It's nothing more than a feeling, but pervasive. She shook. The pain from the cold competing from the burning of her skin. 'How can cold burn?

'So cold.'

Such a rhetorical thought when the pain threatened to overwhelm her once and for all. Death would be easy compared to this. A breath, followed by another one.

Pain.

Darkness beckoned. She embraced it like a lover she never took.

* * *

"Je sais pas."

"That's the worst of it."

"Mudblood"

'How am I alive?'

Taunts chased her while dying.

Pain again made her retreat to the darkness.

Darkness wrapped around her like a flannel duvet.

* * *

'Mudblood Whore'

Cruel taunts from a nasty voice, promising more torture. Threats to her body in ways that only a man can hurt.

A place of safety and refuge was needed. She needed to hide.

Darkness called her again. She ran for it.

* * *

'She doesn't need you.'

'Mudblood.'

'Just be quiet and hold her still.'

Intense heat seared her skin.

"No!"

Bright light burned her eyes. Blue eyes taunted her, tempting her with temporary solace.

'Water,' so her mind said. A buzzing her ears made what those blue eyes said incoherent.

Darkness rolled over her

* * *

Warmth enveloped her hands. They hurt like the rest of her. Heartbeats hurt. Thinking hurt. Breathing hurt.

Her throat was raw. 'How?' a rogue thought wandered across her mind. Rogue thoughts hurt.

Warm hands still encased her own. Clean air tickled her mind, salty tang mixed with soap.

Warm hands hurt.

Mud coated her mouth. Painful bright light seared her eyes. She squinted the lids closed, trying to retreat from the pain.

Warm hands held her, pulling her from the darkness.

A scream hurt her ears.

'Drop it on her arms.'

'It hurts,' she thought. Dear G_d stop!

A quiet voice answered, strong and full of life. 'Living hurts. Dying's easy.' It sounded like her father, the one that wasn't there.

'I don't want to live, not like this. It hurts.'

'Do it for him. He needs you. He loves you.'

'Mudblood whore. You aren't worth the shite on his shoes.'

She retreated from the pain back into the darkness.

* * *

"Please, Hermione, say something."

Ron sat in the chair, holding her hand in his own. She slept still, hours after the last pain potion was given. Each time she woke, from a nightmare or in pain, they dosed her with all of the medications possible: skele-gro, blood replenishing, pain, and a sleeping draught.

Fleur said she would need one more day of the skele-gro, to repair her ribs and collar bone. The remaining three would be used as long as she needed to heal. According to Bill, who had come in last hour to check her bandages, she was slowly healing physically. The carving on her arm was now just weeping rather than bleeding, and the stitches on her neck staunched the blood on her neck. Ron understood, even if only on a base level somewhere in his mind, that the scars from yesterday would be with her the rest of her life. The burn on her chest was raw, angry, vibrant red like Charlie's hair. The paste, green in contrast, made her look like a Christmas gnome that was once on their tree.

His brother spoke about goblin silver, but it didn't make much sense at all. Why couldn't they heal it with magic? Magic fixed everything except dying.

Fleur said she wasn't dying. Bill said that if her mind was broken, they should wish for it.

The last day didn't make much sense. Harry broke the taboo – they were cornered by the snatchers, kidnapped and taken to Malfoy Manor. Greyback was there, whispering nasty taunts in his ear for standing up for Hermione. Pettigrew died before their eyes while they were impotent to stop his demise. Their efforts were in vain to save the traitor.

Ron saw his best friend, lying on the marble floor of the drawing room, unconscious, and possibly dead. He saw the monster holding that knife to her neck, threatening her life. 'She called her a mudblood.' The nasty voice taunted his memories after the destruction of the locket.

'Go find another.' The taunting continued.

"There is no other I want. She's it." He growled to no one in the room.

He squeezed her hand, feeling the chill from her fingertips. Almost a year ago, those delicate ink stained hands rested in his at Dumbledore's funeral. The warmth from them contrasted with the cold breeze on that fateful May morning.

Now they rested in his hand, two small ones that fit in his one. Hours later, and she was still draped only with a sheet to give her some modesty. What he wouldn't give to have seen her in her kit for any other reason. 'Not how I thought I'd see her tits and bits for the first time,' he thought bitterly.

"Damn it, Hermione, wake up!" His bellow bounced around the room.

_Knock Knock_

Luna quietly entered the room, carrying a tray with her. The smells of hot food made his stomach grumble in want. "I knew you wouldn't come down, so I brought this to you. Eat."

He looked up, finding her iceburg blue eyes meeting his cerulean ones. "I – "

"Nonsense. You need to eat. She'd want you to. Hermione always said that you wouldn't quit eating, yet I see you've not had a bite since we got here."

"Not hungry," he muttered in reply.

"But your stomach says he is, and he must be fed. He helps you think better."

Ron shook his head, trying to ignore the pang in his stomach.

"How about I bring the tray over, and feed you, since your hands are busy?"

He looked up, and saw her for the first time. Luna's eyes were bright, yet shadowed by the hollows under them. She was more pale from her months of confinement. The expression on her face was what belayed her appearance. Unlike the dreamy manner in which she normally carried herself, this one was hard, tempered and angry, not unlike the burn on Hermione's chest.

He didn't want to take a chance and wake Hermione. "Sure," he whispered.

Luna brought the tray over to the other side of the bed, putting it on a small side table next to the bed. She lifted the linen napkin from the tray, and his nose was buffeted by the smells of hot soup, fresh bread, and a chunk of pork and potatoes with gravy. After the months of scrounging so little to sustain them, the food in front of him was a feast.

As promised, Luna fed him. She also snuck a bite of the hot buttered bread loaf she had on his plate. He didn't care that she did. "Did they feed you there?"

She looked at him with sad eyes. "I ate. It was cold porridge and stale bread. It wasn't delicious like the meal I just had, but it was sustaining. I do miss having father's plum pudding."

She turned her head so Ron wouldn't see the tears leaking from her eyes. In such close confines of the miniscule bedroom, he afforded her the privacy she could take.

"Fleur went to a lot of trouble to feed us breakfast," she said. "You need to eat, so she will keep cooking such outstanding things for us."

Ron looked back at Hermione, finding no comfort in the meal he was eating. He needed it, but it tasted like the ashes of the potion she had to have. Yet Luna continued to feed him, sopping up the gravy from the plate onto the remaining pieces of bread.

"Ronald?"

He looked back at her. His hands never left Hermione's.

"I'll stay here while you get a shower. I think you could use it."

"But Hermione – "

"She'll stay here. I'm sure that you're rather fit, but I don't think that she'll reciprocate just yet. I don't think she's ready to see you in such a state yet."

"What are you going on about Luna?"

"She loves you. Dearly. But she's not ready to see you out of your trousers. Some things just take time."

"But she's never – "

"Yes she has, but you were too busy snogging Lavender to notice."

Ron turned bright red. Luna wasn't distracted.

"I wouldn't worry about it. She can be rather forgiving when it comes to you. She's fancied you for years."

He put her hands on his head, hoping she'd thread her fingers through his matted ginger locks. "Why didn't she ever say anything? Why?"

"She was waiting for you to notice her."

"I did, but she was already going to the Ball with Krum."

"Are you still frustrated about that? It's been years."

He dropped his hands back on the bed, still holding hers within them. "Should have been me. Why didn't she wait for me?"

"She did. You were too busy being Ronald to notice."

"But she snogged Krum!" Ron growled through his grief.

"And who told you that?"

"Ginny did. Why would my sister lie about something like that?"

Luna blinked, looking dreamy for a moment. "Ginny was mad at you. You were foolish and made poor assumptions. You were too busy trying to protect someone who didn't need your help and ignored someone who wanted you."

Ron sat there a moment, looking at Hermione nestled into the bedclothes. Her pale lips blew breath on occasion, making a stray hair wisp in front of her face. The bruises under her eyes and the crack in her bottom lip made her look like a broken doll. "So tiny," he whispered.

"Only for a moment." Luna came to stand behind him, putting her petite hands on his broad shoulder. "You see her broken now. She'll recover with your help. She's strong, and powerful in mind. Rigid unlike myself, but powerful nonetheless."

He looked back up at her expressive eyes, and wanted to weep. "Will you?"

She looked at him and her expression changed. Anger rolled across her features.

"Do you want a shower or not?" Disdain dripped in her voice.

He recoiled. This wasn't the Luna he knew. Her change of topic scared him. "Sure," he muttered. "I'll be back in a few. Thanks."

Ron scurried out of the room so he wouldn't be on the receiving end of her temper also. Fleur was bad enough. Ginny was scary. This new Luna was as bad as Mum.

Luna sighed in resignation. "Ronald should find his backbone. He needs to be strong for you. He loves you, even if he can't tell you yet. You'll resent him if he can't stand up to you and for you."

Luna looked down at the permanently ink stained hands that were resting in hers. No one had bothered to clean her up when they brought her to this cubby of a room hours earlier. Her hands were covered in dirt, soot, and blood. Bruises dotted the backs of her hands, and the nails were torn and ragged.

"Do you know that, Hermione? You were screaming in agony, and he tried to bring the dungeon down on our heads. The walls shook until Dobby arrived. Did you know that that beautiful elf was our rescue? No, you were probably busy trying to stay alive at that point. Your wails hurt me too."

Luna shook her head, trying to will away the grief she felt welling inside her throat. "They kept me there, with Ollivander, torturing him. They didn't bother me much really. I was bored mostly, until one day a week ago. He…"

Luna shook while holding Hermione's hand. She couldn't hold back the torrent that consumed her. She put her head down on those cold ink stained hands and wept. It was the first time in nine years that she truly hurt.


	3. Rather you than anyone else

Ch. 3 **Rather You than anyone else**

Ron stood under the spray of the shower, enjoying the hot water coursing over his emaciated frame. A growth spurt the last few months along with the lack of food burned most of the few spare pounds he carried on his lanky frame. Ginger hair stood out on his navel, along with a smattering on his chest and around his nips.

He craved sleep; more of what Luna fed him; and Hermione opening her eyes in sanity. Not necessarily in that order. Hermione took precedence. Nothing else would matter if she didn't wake and recognize him.

Steam made the room opaque. He could see the hand in front of his face, finally scrubbed of blood. His blood, and hers, mixed on his knuckled. Now, just scars and scabs from earlier, where he tried to beat the walls down with his bare hands. He wasn't even tempted to use his hands to do anything comforting or pleasuring in the shower. Four years and he changed his morning routine. No pleasure, not that he had the desire, would surpass Hermione opening her eyes for him.

He shut off the water. A towel, warmed for him, lay on the vanity next to the tub. 'Too bad the clothes are grubby.'

He shrugged into the travel worn pants and trousers, putting on the threadbare undershirt, the worn jumper. Even the socks were ready to be tossed, with holes in the toe and almost through the heel.

He still put them on.

The shoes he wanted to throw away. They rubbed his big toe, shorter than they were when he received them last year. They were still in decent shape, even if the heel on them was coming lose.

I'll put them on later. I'm tired of them.

Someone turned the knob on the door. "Wait a second!" he yelled.

He rushed to open the door, and there stood Fleur. "Sorry Ronald."

He blushed, seeing his sister in law standing in front of him with an armload of towels. "Sorry," he said quietly. "Just finished in the shower."

"Tu es bonne. I brought towels for others to use."

"Oh right. I forgot."

"Avez toi dormi?" Fleur looked at him, those deep water blue eyes looking at him. "Did you sleep?"

"Not yet. Hermione was tossing and turning."

"Avez dormir elle." She frowned at him. "Go sleep in there with her. She won't wake for a few hours, and you could use it."

"Really? No one will get upset?"

"Elle besoin toi." Ron stood there befuddled. "She needs you. Beel won't mind now."

The debate only took a second. He couldn't argue with her logic.

Ron leaned down and kissed Fleur on the cheek. "Merci, mon chere!"

Fleur laughed at his attempt at French, but appreciated his efforts. She turned back to the loo to put in towels for the next person in need.

* * *

A cool breeze blew into the window, rustling Ron's hair. He shifted on the pallet on the floor next to the bed, hoping to catch a glimpse of melted chocolate eyes. He sat up, and saw that she had changed position on the bed, but was still asleep.

Ron shook off the blanket, and glanced out the window. The position of the sunshine on the beach looked like late afternoon. As tempting as it would be to leave this room and take a needed walk, Hermione needed him more.

He glanced down at her, and saw that the bandages had been changed again. The one on her neck was dry, yet stained from the residue weeping from Bill's hasty stitching. The burn on her chest was still red, still puffy, but looked less purple around the edges. The burn paste was slowly working. She'd still be scarred, but at least it will heal to some extent. Charlie was a walking example to Burn paste.

He lifted the sheet covering her torso while ignoring her bra and knickers. The remaining cuts had healed up, leaving bruises over her torso. The only other major one was the carving on her arm, which was wet through the bandages. She'd need a fresh dressing shortly, along with more cleaning. It wouldn't do that she got sick from that atrocity on her arm.

He pulled her arm free from the sheets, leaving both of them on top of the bedclothes. Someone would be in shortly to tend to her. Fleur was as dutiful as Bill was when it came to tending her.

Moments later, Bill quietly opened the door and brought a tray with him. Bandages, potion vials, a huge tub of green paste, a roll of tape and a hot bowl of broth.

Ron grumbled at his brother's entrance. "Shhhhh. Don't wake her yet. She's still sleeping."

Bill placed the tray on the side table and looked down at the slumbering Hermione. "Not for long. I have to wake her to give her potions and some broth. Once we get them in her, she'll sleep more."

Ron had a concern and needed to voice it. "Can we tell if she's been touched?"

"You mean mentally?" Bill shook his head. "Possibly, but not sure yet. It's only been about eighteen hours since you got here."

"When can we tell?"

"I'd give it another day and a half before I will be comfortable taking her off of the sleeping draught. I know you won't tell me, but she looks horrible, not counting the wounds and scars. She needs plenty of rest and nourishment if she's to recuperate."

Ron looked down at his sock clad feet. The toes stuck out of the ends, showing how threadbare they were. "There wasn't much to eat out there when we were gone. I didn't know Hermione wasn't eating until we got here and saw how bad she looked. Honest."

Bill looked at his little brother, who stood over him by a couple of inches now. "It's not like you're the paragon of health either. You also look like you've dropped a stone or two."

"Yea, well, it wasn't like we had Mum feeding us three times a day while we were gone."

"Harry too?"

Ron blanched. "Probably."

"I'll go into town and restock the larder. With so many extra mouths to feed, Fleur will need more in the kitchen. She's going to need help cleaning and preparing. You normally eat enough for three. So you're going to pitch in too."

Ron frowned at his brother. "I'm not leaving her."

"But that'll be another day or two."

"So? I'm not leaving her alone." Ron glared at his brother.

Bill looked back at the bed. "Suit yourself."

Bill took the bandages from the tray and carefully laid them out on the bed. "Want to learn what I'm doing? I could do other things if you would take care to change her bandages and such."

Ron looked, realizing that for him to do as he needed, he would have to touch her burn again. He'd dreamt of her tits and bits for years, but he didn't want his brother to see them too. It was bad enough that Fleur had to tend her the first time.

'It's what you've always wanted,' snarled the nasty voice inside his head. 'Take her.'

'Rather you than anyone else to care for me,' said the one that sounded vaguely like Hermione.

"Sure. I'll do it."

He never could refuse her, even when she was shrill and irritable.

For the next half hour, Ron learned the basics. They let her sleep while they changed the dressing and bandage on her arm. It was still weeping, and the gauze stuck to her arm. They gently removed it, coated it again in antiseptic paste then applied more. Next was the dressing on her neck.

Bill instructed his brother in what to do, letting Ron get his hands involved. "Not too bad if I do say so myself." Bill muttered behind Ron while he worked diligently. Once the dressing was off, they inspected the stitches. "This one will take as long if not longer. It's going to be ugly, but I think she's out of the woods in regards to this one. You can tell by the clear liquid."

"Still disgusting," Ron muttered.

Dressing and spell tape later, and she was covered once again.

"I'm going to wake her, and we'll give her the potions. If she's up for it, you can feed her soup too."

"What if she won't eat?"

Bill stood there looking for a minute, considering the alternatives. "If she won't, she'll have to manage on sugar water until we can wean her off the sleeping draught."

Ron shrugged, realizing that today didn't hold the answers.

"On the count of three, I'll wake her."

Ron flourished his wand, silencing the room. "I don't want her scaring everyone."

"Good idea. Ready?"

One nod and Bill counted.


	4. Am I dreaming?

Ch4** Am I dreaming?**

Pain.

"Not for Long."

"They didn't bother me really."

Burning.

"She's been touched?"

"Possibly."

"Tell me or I'll run you through."

"Mudblood Whore."

Hermione ran from it all, hiding in the darkness.

* * *

Bill lifted his wand, pointing it at Hermione's sheet covered chest. Ron stood there, hearing the taunting in his head. He threw his arm out, pushing his brother's arm down.

"No. Let me."

Bill nodded, and stepped to the head of the bed. "When you revive her, I'll lift her up. She'll need the vial of skele-gro, followed by the blood replenishing one. A drink of water, then if she's coherent, we'll feed her. Otherwise, we'll give her the last two. Got it?"

Ron nodded.

Ron lifted his wand, pressing it close to her chest. "_Rennervate_" he whispered.

Melted chocolate eyes opened. Ron was right there so he would be the first face she would see. "Hermione?"

"OhG_dPleaseNo!" she croaked. "Anyone but Ron!"

Bill handed Ron the first potion, tipping it into her throat. A lump in his throat was growing.

She coughed, moving to try and retch over the side of the bed. "No you don't, not yet."

Bill rubbed her back, trying to get her settled. "Come now, I know it's nasty but you need it."

Hermione quit squirming under his caring touch. Ron reached for the second vial. "This one is gross too. Tastes like chalk"

Hermione began to shake. Tears were leaking from her eyes. "Ron, hurry. We don't have much time."

Ron tipped the second vial down her throat. Before it was all gone, he was reaching for the cup of water to wash it down with. He sloshed the water on her face and chin, but some went in her mouth.

She choked again, spraying his jumper with water. "Water," she croaked again.

Ron filled the cup again, giving her another sip. This one she took handily, drinking it slowly.

She looked up away from the cup he was holding. Stolen glances around the room.

"Hermione?" asked Bill from next to her face.

She looked, and froze. "No!" she screamed. "No!"

"Shite! Damn it. Ron, hurry!"

Ron fumbled the third vial, sloshing some on the sheet. Bill had to force Hermione to quit writhing on the bed so she could take her medications. "Come on, Ron, one more to go."

Ron grabbed the last one, the sleeping draught, and thrust it in her face. Bill held her, screaming, while they dumped the last down her throat.

She gagged, trying to empty it from her mouth. "Don't let her spit it. She needs that one!"

Ron pulled her into a massive hug, forcing her to quit gagging. He didn't care if she made a mess of his jumper. Sweat and dirt overwhelmed the strawberry shampoo he loved smelling.

Tiny hands clawed at his jumper, twisting them in distress. "Hermione, please, I love you. Calm down. It's going to be ok."

Seconds passed, and those agitated ink stained hands quit twisting the yarns of his jumper. "Shhhhh. I love you. No one's gonna hurt you. You're safe."

Blue eyes looked at the second set. Nary was a word said. "Fine. Stay in here and keep her company. Keep her comfortable and settled. I'll be back in a little while to check on you and bring you something to eat."

Ron adjusted onto the bed, bringing Hermione to lie on his thin yet broad chest. "Bill?"

Bill stopped in the doorway before unsealing it. "Yea?"

"Thanks."

"She's the reason you went back, isn't it?"

Ron's ears turned bright red, reacting before he could speak.

"No, it's fine. I get it. She's worth it, from what I've seen since you got here. Just don't expect any miracles. She's not out of the woods just yet."

Bill picked up the tray and went to the door. "I just hope I'm wrong."

Bill closed the door, leaving Ron holding Hermione in his embrace as she drifted off to sleep.

"She's always been worth it. I wasn't always worth her."

Soft snoring from Hermione across his chest helped him settle down before drifting off to sleep as well.

* * *

A hand shook Ron awake. Bleary eyes and a numb arm woke with him. He looked from the bushy haired girl in his arms to Emerald eyes looking down at him. "Harry!" he said silently.

Tousled headed Harry nodded back. "I brought you dinner. I thought we could talk a minute."

Ron nodded, and moved Hermione into a more comfortable position on his chest. The smells wafting from the tray Harry brought were delightful. "I brought you dinner. I didn't know if Hermione would eat."

"Nah mate. She got pain potion and sleeping draught two hours ago. She'll be asleep for another couple of hours."

"How 'bout I switch, and give you a break in here. You're probably knackered and need a good kip."

"'S'ok. I took a nap after her last dosing. But I'm starving!"

"Here, I'll help. I brought a tray of sandwiches and a bowl of stew up. You don't want what Luna fixed. Something strange and it tasted weird."

Ron chuckled. "Good old Looney, trying to act like Mum. Luna's as bad as Hermione in the kitchen."

Harry groaned, remembering her attempts at feeding them while they were on the run. "Don't let her hear that."

"Who? Luna? Like she cares."

Harry helped put the plate of sandwiches on Ron's chest, letting him tear at the ham and cheese on crusty bread. "So good. You're amazing."

Harry looked away, out the window onto the beach. "Not really. We shouldn't be here. I screwed up."

"You did, but we're still alive."

Harry looked back, seeing his two best friends on the bed. "I got her hurt, maybe broken completely."

Ron frowned. "You arse. We don't know a thing yet."

"But – "

"Just shut it, alright? Bill said we're waiting another day to see. Until then, quit blaming yourself. It's a miracle you got Dobby to get us out of there."

Harry sat down on the windowsill. "When will it all end? I got Dobby killed too."

"I dunno, mate, but we can't quit yet. Dobby chose to help. And it's not your fault that he's dead. That's another one I lay on those two nutters."

Ron looked at his best mate. Harry was off in his little world again, probably brooding again. "We need her."

"I know that. She's the brains. I can't think of anything we can do at this moment."

"We're still screwed, no closer to finding the remaining Horcrux."

Harry looked up through the ceiling of the cottage. "At least we have the sword for the moment."

"We have nothing to use it on."

"Yea, bit of a problem there."

They sat there for a while, listening to Hermione breathing. "Ron?"

"Yea?"

"We need her."

Ron looked at Harry and scowled. "Don't you think I know that? I need her too."

Harry scowled. "Sorry."

"Quit apologizing, you specky git."

"But it's my fault –"

"Shut it. Now look, we chose to come with you. So you said the bastard's name. We only guessed that there was a trace on it. Now we know."

Harry wouldn't look at them. "But she paid the price for my mistake this time."

"Selfish bastard."

Harry turned and looked at Ron. Anger rolled across his flushed face. "Don't you get it? It wouldn't have mattered who she picked. She did it to break us. She just picked Hermione to take it out on. Now get your head out of your arse and figure out what we can do to win this damn thing."

"What about Hermione?"

"She'll wake and then we can work on a plan. We might not get at it immediately, but we'll figure that out once she wakes."

Harry turned back to the window. Any other time and it would be beautiful to look out of. "So hard," Harry muttered.

"I know mate. You didn't ask to have a maniac go mental. We just have to stop him."

"Can we?"

"Absolutely. Hermione believes in you, and I do too, no matter how much of a prat I am."

"You're not a prat. Part troll, but not a prat."

"Only to you and Hermione here."

Harry grinned weakly. "You need anything?"

Ron grimaced. "Yea, her. I need her, awake and sane. The rest we can deal with."

Harry grinned further. "Don't hurt her. She's my sister, after all."

"I don't plan on it."

"You never do, just happens."

They were quiet for a second. "Ron?"

"Yea?"

"You love her."

Ron knew it wasn't a question. "I do. I won't want to live without her."

"She know that?"

"I dunno."

"I do. She cried for weeks when you left, even when she didn't let me see her. Just kept her eyes in that damn book and reading even more. Barely slept, didn't eat."

Shame rolled across Ron's face.

"You're the only one who can really break her, and the only one who can heal her."

"Ya think?"

Harry got up to leave. Harry kissed his sister on her exposed forehead before gripping Ron's shoulder. "I know." He left, quietly closing the door behind him.

"Hermione, ya hear that. Even Harry knows I love you. Why don't you? Are you mental?"

He fought the lump in his throat. He couldn't break, not when she needed him.

"Come on, please wake. Don't you know I need you? I know you're a nightmare, but I want you to be my nightmare. I'm a git, but I want to make it right by you."

Ron watched as she shifted slightly on his body, squeezing his jumper in her tiny hand.

"You hear me, don't you? I know you're in there. Squeeze your hand twice for me. I'll tell you again if you do."

Tiny fingers gripped his jumper again, doing as he asked.

He hugged her tighter, fighting the emotion threatening to boil over. "I love you. I'll tell you daily if you come back to me. Please. I need you."

She gripped his jumper twice more. He couldn't stifle the chuckle. "I love you, you Barmy girl. I'm not going anywhere."


	5. Almost Home

Ch. 5 Almost Home

* * *

Persistent burning. Pain.

'Make it stop.'

'I dunno. You're a nightmare.'

'Mudblood whore'

'She loves you.'

'We need her.'

'We're still screwed.'

'It's not your fault he's dead.'

Pain. Hurt. Thinking hurt. Breathing hurt. Coarse thread in my hands hurt.

"Are you mental?"

'Ron!'

"Come on, please wake."

'Ron!'

"Squeeze your hand twice for me."

Fingers. I have fingers. They hurt.

"I need you."

'Ron!'

"Barmy girl."

'Mudblood.'

'I need you too. I love you.'

Pain. Burning. Aching.

Hermione retreated from the pain back into the darkness.

* * *

Fleur stood in the doorway to the tiny bedroom, watching the two on the bed. Hermione was still asleep for the most part, but she watched Ron talking quietly with her. She didn't want to listen to their conversation, which was one sided for once. It might be the only time that Ron would be able to talk and get to say everything he wanted.

_"Qu'elle es, ma chere?"_

Bill came up and nuzzled her ear while threading his arms around his wife's waist.

_"Est L'amour."_

_"Oui. Elle sait?"_

_"Je sais pas. Elle est endormie."_

_"Laissez-les dormir."_

Fleur turned around and traced the badly healed scars on her husband's face._ "Et toi? Voulez vous dormir?"_

Bill grinned down at his wife, giving her his best scoundrel grin._ "Non, mon amour. Je te veux."_

Fleur took her husband's hands in her own. Blue eyes reflected one another. No words were needed as they retired to their own bedroom.

* * *

Ron didn't notice his family leave the doorway. His eyes were on the bushy haired know it all sleeping in his arms. After her initial actions of squeezing her hands, she fell asleep. The potions worked quickly on someone as small as she was now.

Ron hated how small she was in his arms. The Hermione he was friends with was so large – living, fighting, being swotty mouthed. This one was a wee thing, so tiny. 'When'd she get so small? My Hermione is like Ginny, life itself wrapped in a small package. When did she get this small?'

Ron looked at her permanently ink stained hands. Petite and delicate – that's what girls like. They were brilliant too. But they were dirty now, covered in grime. 'She needs a bath at some point. She'd hate looking like this.'

Ron reacted in a way he didn't want. 'Damn it. Quit. Not now.' Ron shook his head, throwing away that line of thought. It took a minute for him to settle back down.

He needed a distraction. What would work? He grinned.

To pass the time before he needed to get up for dinner, he told her Wizarding tales he grew up on. Mum told them one way, but he preferred how he saw them in his head. The Toadstool tales wouldn't help her in the least, since he didn't want her sick. Far from it. He's tell her his version of Tales of Beedle the Bard.

He started with Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump, working eventually to the Wizard and the Hopping Pot, and then the Hallows tale. He didn't think she'd want to hear about The Warlock's Hairy Heart so he skipped that one. Instead, he finished with his favorite: the tale of the Fountain of Fair Fortune, relishing that he could tell it the way he always wanted. Dad knew this was his favorite, relishing in how he told it, feeling like he was the knight in the tale and finding his bride and his fortune, based off of hard work and personal struggle.

Only now was he close enough to see his own fountain. He looked down on the slumbering Hermione in his arms. 'And if she'll have me, my own witch by my side.'

He finished the tale, watching the witch in his arms snuggled further into his jumper. What little he could see of her face was less pale, almost sedate in his arms.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like listening to the sound of my voice."

"Well you certainly know how to weave a yarn now, Weasley.

Ron looked up at that bass voice from the doorway. There stood Dean Thomas, looking considerably better than he did the day before. He looked somewhat rested and from the pallor of his skin, freshly showered as well. "Sorry. I didn't hear you there."

"Not a problem. I've not heard those stories before. It was nice to hear them."

Ron shrugged, trying not to stir Hermione in his arms.

"Fleur sent me up to tell you that dinner is ready. She already fed me and I told them I'd come sit with Hermione for a few so you could eat."

"Oh that's not a problem. I'm comfortable."

"No, really. Let me. I owe you and Harry both for getting me out of that dungeon. I wanna help."

Ron stood there, looking closer at his sister's former boyfriend. He had grown since the last time they saw one another. Dean was the only one, aside from Bill, whom Ron could look directly at. He was lanky also, as well as looking worse for wear.

"How long were you there?"

Dean shrugged as well. "I dunno. Maybe a week or two. Maybe longer. Snatchers caught us. Only me and Griphook survived. Dirk Cresswell and Ted Tonks didn't. Bastards killed the other goblin too."

"Wait, Ted Tonks? Like Tonks the Auror?"

"Yea, that one. He talked about her plenty."

"Damn."

"Yea. Right in front of me. Made me sick to watch those arseholes."

They stood quiet for a minute.

"Dean, I –"

"No, really. It's fine. I owe you guys my life. This isn't about Ginny." Dean scuffed his trainer on the hardwood floor. "Far from it. She's great, really. I loved going out with her and such. She was fun. But I would always be second place to her. She never loved me like she did Harry. I get that now."

"You two talk?"

"Earlier today. We took a walk on the beach. I needed to clear the air with him. There were some things I needed to tell him."

Ron scowled. "If you – "

Dean stood up taller. "That's between me and Ginny, and now Me and Harry. You caused enough problems as it is, so shut it."

Ron continued to scowl but Dean wasn't fazed. "For what it's worth, your sister is a good woman. Better than I deserved. She'll make Harry a good wife one day. She's strong enough to handle him."

"She know that?"

"Yea. We talked before the end of term last year. We're good."

Ron shrugged.

Dean pointed to Hermione still in the bed. "How's she doin'?"

Ron looked down at the top of her matted head. "We dunno yet. She's not been awake long enough for us to know anything. Bill keeps her dosed right now so she can sleep. We'll know something tomorrow or the next day."

"For what it's worth, I hope she's fine. I know you care for her."

Ron blushed. "Seems she was the only one who didn't realize it," he muttered.

"Well, it's not like you two are the easiest people to be around."

Ron chuckled. "You're right about that. She does make life interesting."

"Rather you than me. She'd be too much for me to handle. Too brilliant to really understand. Half the time I don't understand her. Now get a move on. Fleur won't hold dinner for you much longer. I told them I'd sit with her until you got back."

Ron looked down, and didn't want to leave. "Yea, sure. I'll be back shortly."

He wiggled around on the small bed, trying not to stir Hermione much from his movements. Dean came into the room, finding the stool in the corner for him to sit on.

"Dean?"

"Yea, Ron?"

"Thanks."

"Not a problem."

Ron left, leaving Dean to watch the sleeping woman on the bed.

"He's got it bad, Hermione. Hope you realize that."

* * *

Ron sat down at the dinner table. Fleur laid out his plate, with more for him: Roasted ham, creamed turnips, some kind of salad, pole beans, fresh bread, and a huge chocolate gateau.

He tore into the meal, relishing the flavors. The memory of mushrooms was still on his mind. 'If I never have another one, it will be entirely too soon.'

Fleur was talking with Luna and Bill with Harry. He was thankful that no one bothered with him. All that he wanted was to eat and then get back to Hermione's side. 'She'd like this. It's good.'

He looked down, and saw only crumbs on his plate. 'A piece of cake would be nice too.'

A slice of cake was put on his tray. He looked up and saw Luna sitting back down. 'You needed something else, Ronald.'

'Tanks' he replied back through a huge bite of chocolate frosting.

She smiled at him before turning back to her conversation.

* * *

A/N: Bill and Fleur's conversation, as bad as my French is:

"What is it, my dear?"

"It's love."

"Yes. Does she know?"

"I don't know. She's still asleep."

"Let them sleep."

"And you? Do you want to sleep?"

"No, my love. I want you."

My apologies to my Francophone readers for my atrocious language. -D.G.


	6. Achey Wakey

Ch6 Achey Wakey

* * *

'I would always be second place to her.'

'Not true. I chose you.'

'Listen to the sound of my voice.'

'Ron!'

'Mudblood.'

'She's the only one who didn't realize it.'

'Mudblood.'

"He's got it bad."

"Bastards killed the other one."

"She know that?"

'Ron!'

'I get it. You chose him.'

Hermione ran to the darkness to hide the anguish she felt.

* * *

Bill slipped back into the room, looking at his brother on the bed with Hermione. Ron was snoring, but Hermione looked restless. Her hands were fidgeting on his jumper and if Bill wasn't mistaken, she was quietly moaning.

He laid the tray down on the side table, placing the old one on the stool in the corner of the room. "Ron."

A snore answered him. "Always was a heavy sleeper," muttered Bill. A hand on his shoulder and a hard shake woke him. Bright blue eyes looked up at him. "She's trying to wake. We need to dose her again."

"Wazztizmeizit?"

"Half eleven."

Ron slid out of the bed, stretching his aching back from being so cramped. Bill heard the many pops from his little brother's movements.

"You should get out of here for a little while, take a walk."

"I'll be fine."

"No, really, go for a walk. Stretch your legs; get some fresh air."

Ron turned to his brother, angry for once. "What gives, Bill? Why're you trying to make me leave her? I already did that once."

Bill gave the hard look back to his youngest brother. "I don't want you being disappointed if she wakes up broken, that's all."

"She isn't. She's just hurting still. That's all. When I was telling her the stories earlier, she settled down, and slept comfortably."

"You really think that? Babies sleep better lying on their mum's chest while you talk to them. Doesn't mean they aren't sick or are adults."

"Damn it, quit being an arse. She's gonna wake and be fine. You mark my words."

Bill looked down at his slippered feet. "I hope you're right."

"Where's Fleur? I thought she'd be in here to help."

"Nah. She's knackered. Cooking three meals for all of us, along with helping take care of Griphook and Ollivander wore her out today."

"How are they?"

"The goblin will recover. They are hearty folk. He is bothersome, requesting Fleur to bring him meals every so often. As for Ollivander, he's in worse shape than Hermione. He's not woken all day. Luna and Dean are taking turns caring for him."

"Another one?"

"I dunno. Luna only told me so much. He'd been held so long there that there isn't much we can do. I'd take him to St. Mungo's if there wouldn't be the chance they'd take him back or kill him."

"Bastards," growled Ron. "What does he know? Besides Wands?"

"You tell me."

A thought flickered across his mind. 'Couldn't be. That's a children's tale.'

"I dunno. She's the brains of the bunch. You can ask her later. Now, let's get her taken care of. I'm knackered even if I slept off and on all day today."

Ron looked at the tray, filled with potions, paste, and a pitcher of water. "Ya mind helping me?"

"Sure."

The brothers worked diligently, changing the bandage on her neck. "This one looks like this one is healing. I'm glad that worked so well, even if it'll leave a nasty looking scar."

Ron slathered the wound with more antiseptic paste then covered her back up. The brothers turned their attention to the bandage on her arm. Ron held it while Bill unwrapped the covering.

"I'll clean it while you hold it."

"Still gross."

"Well, yea. I couldn't heal it normally. It's healing and there's no infection. See? The weeping from it is mostly clear. It'll heal eventually, leaving a nasty scar."

Ron scowled once again, seeing her beautiful arm marred by the ministrations of a mad witch. For the first time in his life, he felt hatred: hatred at the maniac who defaced someone so amazing.

A soft groan behind them changed everything. Ron looked, and he was gobsmacked.

Hermione had shifted on the bed, slowly reaching her other hand to where they were working. Her face was contorted in what appeared to be pain, with tears leaking from the corners of her scrunched eyes.

He gathered her other hand in his own, threading her fingers through his. Ron leaned over, putting his lips next to her ears, speaking as softly as possible. "Shhhh. I'm here. We're taking care of your arm. It's hurt still."

Ron turned his head back to his brother who was finishing the changing of the dressing. "Please. She's hurting. Hurry."

Bill went back to work while Ron continued to soothe her as best he knew how. "We're almost finished. Just a little longer. Then it's potions and more sleep. I'll even stay here and keep you company."

He felt thin fingers squeezing his own. He could only grin. "I'm not going anywhere until you wake. You're stuck here listening to me tell you children's stories, along with whatever else I can think of."

Another squeeze of his hand. "So you like the sound of my voice, huh? I'll have to remember that when I can't get a word in edgewise."

One reasonably strong squeeze on his hand. He chuckled again. "I bet if you were awake, you'd roll your eyes at me. Well, until you do love, you'll have to settle for listening to me."

A strong hand gripped his shoulder. Ron nodded without looking up.

"Hermione, we're going to wake you, and give you potions. They are to help you get better. If you hurt still, squeeze my hand as hard as you can. You do that, and we'll give you more pain potion and sleeping draught. But please, come back to me. I need you."

"You ready?" Bill muttered behind his shoulder.

"Yea, gimme one second."

Ron leaned down, pressing his chapped lips to her forehead. "I love you. Come back for me."

He raked his hand across his face, removing the last trace of emotion from it. He stood up, grasping the chestnut wand in his hand and pointed it at her chest. "Rennervate," he whispered again.

Brown eyes slowly opened, closing immediately to the harsh light. "Ron? Where's Ron?"

He fought the lump in his throat, realizing that she wasn't quite back yet. "Sit her up, Bill. We'll dose her and let her sleep the night." Vials were passed to him, tipping them into her mouth. Each one was alternated with a sip of water to clear her throat.

After the second sip of water, the shudders started again. "Hermione, you're safe. Ron's here. No one's going to hurt you. It's OK." Third and fourth vials of potion were administered. Water was given. Ron didn't pay attention. His mind was warring with his emotions.

"No. She has to be in there."

Harry's voice replied. "She's in there. She's waiting for you."

Bill chimed in. "She's not good enough for you."

Fleur spoke up. "Better women for a pureblood." That voice made him scowl.

"No one is better for me. She's the best," he retorted forcefully.

"Filthy Mudblood." Malfoy's voice echoed in his mind.

"Eat Slugs!" he screamed in memory.

Riddle's voice cooed. "Why save her? She loves another."

Ron fought back. "Bullshite. He said she's his sister."

Dean Thomas spoke up. "You've seen them together."

Ron growled. "She doesn't love him."

Harry spoke up. "You were gone so long."

Ron whimpered. "Harry promised."

Bill spoke up again. "You should have killed him. He's in your way."

Ron growled. "I'd never kill Harry."

Luna whispered, "She's rather die than love you."

"Ron!"

Ron came out of his internal struggle to see his brother looking at him. "You ok? You look green."

He tried to temper his voice. "I'm fine. Just need a glass of juice before bed."

Bill nodded. "You stay then, and treat her chest burn. I'll get it. Back in a few."

Ron barely noticed his brother left.

On the table tray was the jar of green paste. He slowly opened it, shrugging his nose at the stench of it. "You're lucky I like you. This stuff stinks like hippogriff shite. There's no one else I'd do this for. Not even Harry."

Ron took a flannel from the tray, and slowly lifted the sheet from her chest. He wiped it slowly across her chest, trying to remove the dried paste from her chest. "You've got to come back, Hermione. I need you. Harry needs you. Hell, the whole world needs you. We can't do this without you."

Emotion threatened to overwhelm him once again. "Merlin's bollocks. I dreamt of your tits and bits for years. The first time I get to see them, and you're not even here to scold me for it. Damn it, why do you have to be so stubborn, fighting alongside the rest of us. I should have been there to protect you, not let you take my punishment."

Tears dripped onto her burn, mixing with the paste. "Why do you have to be so damn stubborn? We could have had years if I hadn't been such a tit and made a mess of things. I was so damn mad at you when it wasn't even your fault." Ron sniffed, wiping his hand across his unusually long nose. "Why'd you have to go and snog Krum? I should have been your first dance, your first kiss, your first snog. Why damn it? Why'd you have to go and get all beautiful before I was ready to admit it? Why couldn't you wait on me, let me get my own head out of my arse?"

Ron finished cleaning the burn on her chest, watching it rise and fall in rhythm. The sheet gave her some modesty, but Ron kept watching her breath. "Merlin, you're beautiful," he whispered to her. "Why couldn't we have done this the right way, taken our time and snogged your first?"

Ron shook his head. 'Quit staring, you prat. She needs you.' He took a handful of burn paste and applied it to her chest. Two coatings later, and she looked like a Christmas gnome again. He laid the sheet back across her chest, lightly placing her arms on top of it. The duvet went over them. "It'd be easier if you told me if you were hot or cold. I hate guessing just by the temperature of your hands. They're always ice cold."

He watched as she ever slightly shifted on the bed, reaching her good hand out. He took it in his own, feeling the cool fingers in his own. "You're looking for me, aren't you? Sorry love. I was just being a tit missing you."

"You're not a tit for missing her. Far from it. It means you're willing to tell her you care."

Ron looked over his shoulder at Luna. She was holding a tray with a pitcher of juice and some pudding. "Bill had me bring this up for you before I retired for the night. He said you'd want it."

He looked down, seeing his hands in hers. "I was just talking. I think she hears me. Well, she seems to act like it."

Luna brought the tray in, taking the potion tray with her. She looked down and the slightly restless Hermione in the bed. "She hears you. Keeping her company helps her. She's probably bored inside her own head, and you talking keeps her company. Maybe if you talk with her all night, she'll wake in the morning."

"You think?"

"Well, it might be the only time when you can tell her everything without her interrupting you. It might also be the only time when she has to listen and not make a muck of things. She hears things that most of us don't. It's quite confusing really. She's brilliant and so narrow sometimes."

Ron looked back at the less restless Hermione on the bed. "You hear that Hermione? Luna thinks you're brilliant and barmy like the rest of us do."

"Oh Ronald. I never said that. I just said narrow sometimes. But who else can I argue logic with here? Bill? He's too busy fornicating Fleur right now to talk. Harry's too busy sitting out on the beach listening to mermen to talk, and Dean's asleep in the parlor. Quite frankly, I want her back too."

Ron looked up at those impossibly blue eyes. They were pretty in their own way, but they weren't what he neither needed nor wanted. "Listen, I'm sorry about earlier."

"Oh, don't be. I didn't realize I was angry when you asked that. I have much to deal with and understand what happened while I was at the Manor. Ollivander understands, but he's too busy resting to talk. Dean wasn't there long. About the only one who would is asleep on the bed in your hands."

Ron looked back down at Hermione. "If you want, I'll stay up tonight. I'll listen."

Luna blinked. "Well, thank you, but I'm not ready to share with you. Maybe one day I shall. But for now, I need other things, like a walk on the beach in my bare feet. I've missed it these long months. But you are kind to offer, even if that wasn't what you wanted to do."

Ron blushed. Confined for months, and she was still Luna.

"Anyway, goodnight Ronald. I hope you tell her everything you need to. It might be the only opportunity you have."

Ron watched Luna quietly slip out of the room with the old tray. "You know Hermione, she's right. I might as well talk to you while I have you this way. I've got plenty to say."


	7. A Comfortable Conversation

Ch. 7 A comfortable conversation

* * *

'Take a Walk.'

'mudblood.'

'You really think that?'

'She's bothersome.'

'Just a taste Ginger'

'leaving a nasty scar.'

"Luna thinks you're barmy."

"You have to settle listening to me tonight."

"Can't get a word in edgewise."

"I've got plenty to say."

"He's too busy fornicating Fleur right now."

Hermione ran back to the darkness, too angry to wake now.

* * *

Ron let Hermione's hands go so he could eat. "I'll be right here, Hermione. Luna brought some chocolate pudding and I'm starving. Fleur doesn't cook like Mum, but she does a mean pudding. I'd offer you some, but you hate sweets."

Ron took the spoon out of the bowl, and dipped his finger in it. "Might be the only time you don't scold me for my manners or how much I eat. I better enjoy this." He chuckled remembering her cuckolding for his eating habits at school. The pudding was still warm and just the right consistency. "I wish you could understand how hard it is to stay fed when you're constantly hungry. Sure you got mad at me so much, but I was starving most of the time. I couldn't wait to eat. Eating like a pig and being hungry two hours later is brutal."

He picked the spoon back up after cleaning his finger. "I think Mum and Dad saved money sending me off to Hogwarts. For the last two summers, I ate as much as the twins and Ginny combined. I couldn't help it – I've got an appetite. Only Mum could keep me fed, mostly."

He looked down and saw that most of the pudding was gone. "See?" He held the bowl at Hermione. "I didn't even notice that I ate that much while talking with you."

He stuck his finger back in the bowl, taking as much of the remnants onto his long digit. "I'd lick the bowl, but you might wake up just to scold me."

Ron grinned, and licked the bowl. "Might as well do it if you're not gonna speak up."

Ron put the bowl back on the tray then drained the glass of pumpkin juice. He wiped his face with the back of his jumper sleeve. "Those two things hit the spot. I might be able to sleep all night now that I had a snack. That's why I was out of bed most nights. You try waking up at half three hungry enough to eat a side of hippogriff."

Ron closed the window, feeling the chill in the air. The slight crack might be nice during the day, but the chill in the air made it worse at night. "Well, I'm cold. I'm sure you're freezing until I snuggle up with you again. I bet you're ready to listen to me talk all night. When you're ready, just jump right in and tell me when I'm wrong."

Ron snuggled under the covers, bringing the extra blanket up his torso. "You've been under the covers all day, and your feet are still ice. What gives witch?" He could only chuckle from it. "Guess I better get used to having your cold feet on me. It's not like I'm going to let you go after this. Gripe like you want, but some point down the line, I'm gonna make you my wife. I need you, brilliant and barmy as you are."

Ron pulled her to him, feeling her weight on his chest. He threaded his hands through hers, putting them on the coarse yarn of his matted jumper. The hair on her head tickled his nose, but tonight wouldn't matter.

"What shall we talk about tonight? I've got all night and you're a captive audience. Oh I know…. Spiders."

* * *

Harry stood in the doorway of the smallest bedroom, watching his two best friends on the miniscule bed. Ron was laughing while Hermione was asleep on his chest. Harry couldn't tell if she was getting better or not. Guilt racked him for getting her hurt, and he wasn't as confident as Ron was about her waking, much less being sane after what she went through. Sure Luna said she was in there, but how could she tell? Ron believed the best like always, but this was Hermione. The last time she was out of it was after the fight in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry shuddered while remembering those days. Hermione was the worst off, followed by Ginny. Ron recovered pretty quickly, along with Neville when his nose was fixed. Only he and Luna were pretty much unscathed, at least physically.

Ginny was in there for two days, letting her ankle heal with copius amounts of Skele-grow. Hermione was another matter.

Hermione was out of it for three days before Madame Pomfrey woke her from her potion induced slumber. Dumbledore agreed, saying that she needed the time to rest since she was cursed worst of all. Harry didn't like seeing her bandaged up like that, covering her chest. The Mediwitch did the best she could, but the scar there was atrocious. Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey knew what curse was used on her – but they never told the rest of them. Just a glance between the two of them along with a frown by Dumbledore was all that passed between them.

She woke that third morning, but the Mediwitch kept her the rest of the week, wanting to make sure that she wasn't suffering any lingering effects from it. She stayed on pain potion for weeks too. Nasty thing, that curse. Maybe at some point, he'd learn what that curse was.

Harry saw it later that summer when Hermione came to stay with them at the Burrow. A swim in the pond one hot afternoon was enough for him to remember what she went through. From her collarbone to under her top was enough of a reminder.

Now, from where he stood, he saw the Welsh Green paste on her chest, making her look like a bad Christmas ornament. "Another scar for us. How many more? When is the price too high?"

Between Ron's arms – still scarred from the brains two years ago, and now the splinch scar on his left one – Harry's on his forehead – Hermione now with multiples – they were a walking kaleidoscope of Gryffindor bravery.

Harry shook his head, leaving his best friends to spend the night together. In his hands was the Marauder's Map – where he could pine away for Ginny. Would she be in bed asleep tonight? Did she miss him like he missed her? He hoped so.

* * *

"So that's why I hate spiders. When we're living together, you'll have to take care of them. I won't get near'em."

Ron looked down through those bushy curls and saw Hermione flexing her hand off and on into his jumper. "You liked that, didn't you? I bet you didn't realize how terrified I was of them. I'd only go into the Forbidden Forest and face acromantulas just for you. I don't like anyone else that much. Well, maybe Ginny, but I didn't know that she was being hurt by that monster then. And maybe Mum, but no one else. "

He smiled, knowing that Luna had been right. Spending this time with her was the key to her sanity and coming back to him. 'Onward forward.'

"So let me tell you about the first time I was ever coaxed onto the broom. The twins bribed me – and scared Mum silly. I was five."

* * *

Ron's voice trickled into her consciousness. It was quiet, a whisper that was rather soothing. Unlike a lullaby, this one was a beacon, a clarion call. She couldn't pick out everything he was saying. It was like a muffler was wrapped around her head, dampening the voices she could pick up.

'Spiders.'

'Broom.'

Ron's voice chased away the nasty taunts from Greyback and Lestrange. She felt the coarse fibers under her fingers, doing what he asked of her earlier. Flex and release. Flex and release.

"Dunno why I said that. Just mean on my part."

Flex and release. Flex and release.

"No one should ever be called that, no matter what. You don't call a lady that."

"Should've let that nasty rat be killed. Saved us plenty of trouble had I listened to you."

Flex, hold, release. Flex, hold, release.

"Never did know how you were in two places at once that night in the Hospital Wing. Harry never said, not for a lack of wanting on his part."

Flex, hold, release. Flex, hold, release.

"Actually missed you that summer before you came to visit for the World Cup. Realized I enjoyed your company, even if you still hate Quidditch. Hated what happened after the match finished. But how can you hate Quidditch?"

Flex, hold, release. Flex, hold, release. Flex, hold, release.

"I admit that I should have asked you first. I didn't know what to think, since I was befuddled by girls. Hell, you befuddle me still and we've been friends for years. How can you tell a swotty mouthed know it all that you fancy her? I was scared you didn't feel the same way."

Flex, hold, hold, release. Flex, hold, hold, release.

"Only when I saw you dancing with Krum, that tit, was I really jealous. I wanted to be the bloke you were dancing with. I admit, I was a tit. I was nasty to you because I didn't understand you might fancy me too."

Burning. Eyes. 'Tears' she thought.

Ah, better. Relief.

"Didn't realize how bad you were hurt until we were in the hospital wing. Pomfrey wouldn't let me sit next to you for the first day. Said you would have been hurt worse if anyone touched you further. I just wanted to hold your hand and tell you to get better."

Pain.

"Are you crying? Please don't cry Hermione. I don't know how to deal with you crying."

Breathing. Pain. 'He's holding you.'

Relief.

"said that you had snogged Krum and that just set me off. I was mad because I wasn't your first kiss. So when Lavender threw her arms around me, I wanted her. It was great until I saw you crying on Harry's shoulder. I didn't know I hurt you that bad. But it was nice to be wanted."

Flex, hold, hold, hold, release. Flex, hold, hold, hold, release.

"Hate myself for leaving you. I should have just walked outside and calmed down, even if it took all night. I heard you screaming for me in the rain. I was just too angry to think. Sodding locket. You needed me, and I walked out on you in a temper. If I live another hundred years I will regret that one moment. I don't know how you will ever trust me, breaking my word like that. Sure, Harry forgave me for saving his life and destroying the locket. He saw what I saw. I honestly thought for years that you loved him and I was just the sidekick. The locket showed me you snogging him, naked, kissing him like I wish you'd kiss me. You'd hug him, talk with him when I was being a prat, lean into him. You'd fight with me, screaming at me when I'd screw something up. Hell, I still have the scars on my hands when you sent those canaries on me. Bloody Hell, Hermione, what was I supposed to think?"

Burning tears. Can't breathe. Hands hurt.

"They took you away from me, and I knew I needed you. Two nights, and I miss you like crazy. I don't care if you don't love me like that."

Hermione shook. Something hit her face. 'tears.'

"I can't be scared anymore. Sod it. I'll fight any man for you. I want you, I need you. I love you."

Bright light. Pain. 'Fight it.'

The pain receded. Colors came into focus.

Maroon. White. Pale pink. Orange. Red. Blue. Beautiful cerulean eyes.

Red rimmed blue eyes looked down at her.

"Hermione?"

"Hi Ron. I missed you."

"Is that really you Hermione?"

She smiled weakly. "I forgive you."


	8. Out of Madness

Ch. 8 Out of Madness

* * *

Pain. Oh dear G_d pain.

"Hermione!"

"Ron. Can't breathe. Hurt." Hermione croaked.

"Oh. Damn. Sorry."

Ron lessened the hold he had on Hermione.

"Hermione!"

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, relief coursing through his veins. "Merlin, I missed you."

She looked up at the tear tracks on his face. He looked wonderful. "I heard you."

"You heard me?"

She nodded.

He crushed her to his chest. A pop rang out. She groaned.

"Oh Merlin. What did I do?"

He looked down at her, seeing the tears leak from her eyes. "Shite! Let me get someone to check you. I don't know how to."

Pain. Her chest hurt. Hermione groaned from the pain. The pain potion had worn off some time prior. Tears continued to quickly well in her eyes. Breathing hurt terribly.

Ron gently lowered her to the bed, and slid out from it. His stomps resonated in the small room.

A dull ache was spreading through her chest and arms. Breathing hurt. Moving hurt.

'Living hurts,' said the voice that sounded like her father. "Pain's temporary."

Loud voices preceded the two who returned. Fleur rushed in with a small tray of potion vials and a steaming bowl of broth. Hermione's stomach grumbled at the smell. Ron entered next, with his hair a blazing and his ears to match. Finally Bill came in, growling at Ron. The scars on his face stood pale against the anger on it.

"How could you be so stupid, Ron? She's been unconscious the last two days and you go and break something? Didn't Mum teach you a thing? Were you even thinking? How could you be so careless?"

Ron looked down at his threadbare socks. "Sorry."

"You should be. Merlin knows what's wrong."

Fleur glared at her husband. "Beel! Quit!" He quit berating his brother. "Hush. I'll check."

Fleur turned back to Hermione. "Hermione, where do you hurt?"

Pain flared. "Breathing hurts. Moving hurts. shoulder."

Fleur pulled her wand from inside her house coat, and flourished it silently. Pink settled onto Hermione's chest and collarbone. She turned, glaring at both men. "Ron, be careful please. Ma petit soeur has again broken the ribs we were trying to mend with Skele-gro, and now you broke her collarbone. I can fix both, but you must be careful."

Ron blanched, realizing how fragile she was. Fleur looked over her shoulder at her husband. "Et toi, my 'usband, quit scolding him. He didn't know she had broken ribs. I never told him."

Bill nodded also. "Oui, ma chere."

She nodded, and turned back to Hermione. "I can't heal you with magic. Dark curses sometimes leave residue. So it's potions for now until we know for certain. Tu comprends?"

Hermione nodded. "Water," she croaked again.

Ron rushed to her other side, filling a cup for her. "Slowly now. Don't want you to choke on it."

"So good. So thirsty."

Fleur handed Ron a vial. "More potions for you. They're nasty."

"What?"

"First one is blood replenishing. You bled quite a bit when you got here."

Hermione took the first one, trying not to choke on the dirt taste. "Ghastly," she whispered.

Smiles broke out in the room.

Fleur handed Ron the second one. "Skele-gro. It's even worse."

Hermione choked on that one, coughing hard through the chalky taste. "Disgusting!"

More smiles in the room. A cup of water was put back to her lips. "Sips dear. That stuff is gross. Hated it third year when Madame Pomfrey was trying to heal my broken leg."

She looked up at the bright blue eyes she loved. Another sip of water. She wanted to laugh. She needed to cry. "More."

Ron put the cup back to her lips, letting her have small sips. "There's plenty more."

Fleur handed him the third vial. "For pain," she said quietly. Ron held it to Hermione's lips, letting a drop drabble on her lips. "Nasty." She still took all of it.

Bill came to the bed, standing over his wife's shoulder. "We'll hold off on the sleeping draught for now. You look sick of sleeping really."

"How long?"

"Since you got here? Over two days."

Hermione shook her head. "Where?"

"Our home on the south coast."

She shook her head again. "What's bothering you?" Ron asked softly.

"Why here?"

Three heads looked at one another.

Bill spoke up for the other two. "What's the last thing you remember, Hermione?"

"Forest of Dean. Lovegood's house."

Ron felt the lump in his throat choke him. "You want to know?"

Bill yanked him around, staring nose to nose with his taller brother. "She's not ready yet."

Ron scowled. "Fine."

Bill looked back down at the patient in the bed. "You were terribly hurt. Ron and Harry brought you here. You're safe and getting better."

Hermione's hand started shaking. Ron noticed it before the rest could. He took it in his hands, hiding her as best he could. "Shhhh. You're awake. I'm not leaving you."

"Hungry," she croaked. Ron turned to leave.

Hermione looked up at Fleur, catching her eye. A hard glance between the two young women was enough.

"Bill, could you go get another pot of tea for Hermione. Ron, fetch me a hot pitcher of water from the bathroom along with some towels and flannels."

"But Fleur, I – "

She gave Ron a hard look at him, and they both scurried out of the room. A quick closing of the door, and the older woman was there next to the bed. "Oui, ma soeur?"

"How bad?" Hermione whispered.

"It's a miracle you're alive and sane. That you ask that question means you'll recover."

"I can't remember."

"C'est tres bon. I don't know what happened. Ronald never said – and I never asked. But you were hurt terribly."

"How bad?"

Fleur took her good hand, and placed it on the dressing on her neck. "Beel had to stitch you like a muggle. He couldn't heal you with magic or potions."

Hermione leaned over the side of the bed and retched. Tears leaked from her eyes. "Dear G_d!" she groaned. "It hurts."

Fleur banished the sick from the floor, rubbing her shoulders to lessen the discomfort.

"I'll give you more pain potion. You need to eat something. 'Tis the only way you'll heal."

"Is that all?"

"No, ma chere. Later, we'll talk."

Fleur went back to tending the table, glancing at Hermione lying on the pillow in the bed. "You also need more burn paste for your chest."

"When did that happen?"

"Je sais pas. You had it too when you got here. Let's clean it and put some fresh paste on it. It'll feel better once I do."

Hermione looked down at the slathering of dark green paste across her chest, overlapping the previous scar left after the fight at the Ministry. "It looks bad." She whispered.

"It's better now after two days of paste. Later on, I'll give you a bed bath. Tomorrow or the next, I'll give you a bath in the tub."

"Fleur?"

"Oui?"

"Merci," Hermione whispered.

Fleur stood over her with another vial of potion. "For pain."

Hermione couldn't handle the vial on her own. Her hand was shaking too much. Fleur kept her hands on it, helping her tip the vial back. "It's disgusting."

She leaned back over to the patient in the bed, and kissed her gently on the cheek. "I know, but you need it."

"Damn it, Bill, I never said that. I said she'd – "

"Shut it, you git. We'll do this my way."

"Rotten bastard."

"My house, my way, you prat."

Ron scowled at his brother, but kept quiet in the corner. He was holding a tea pot and another plate with a steaming bowl of something.

"You need to eat something besides broth. So I brought tea and a bowl of thin porridge. That should do for now."

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

Fleur collected the empty vials from the two trays, along with the now cold bowl of broth. "Porridge or broth, Hermione?"

She lay back on the pillow, considering the options. Both sounded revolting after what just happened. "Leave both. I'll try. Will you help me, Ron?"

Ron jumped from his place in the corner, moving around the little table to the head of the bed. 'She never asks for my help.'

While he was making the tray ready for her, she watched as the other two left the room quietly, leaving them in silence. Fleur also took the steaming bowl of hot water and handful of flannels.

"Ron, it's fine. I'm really not hungry. I just wanted them to leave."

"What's going on Hermione?"

She sighed and nestled back down into the bed.

"What is it?"

"There's something I need to know."

"Alright, but only if you eat."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron!" She tried to push herself up onto her elbows, just so she could see him better. She forgot the broken ribs. Pain racked her. She fell back onto the bed groaning.

"I'm not playing, Hermione. You look horrible. I didn't know you were starving out there."

She couldn't face him, not after everything else. "How could I? If you didn't eat, you were horrible to us. I needed to make sure that you ate, even at my expense."

Ron scowled and wrung his hands. "That's no excuse for starving yourself. Why didn't you say anything?"

"What good would it have done, Ronald?" She choked on the words coming out. "I gave you my measly amounts so you wouldn't leave again. I wouldn't want to live if you broke my heart a second time."

Ron felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. "You thought that I'd leave again if I didn't eat? You think so poorly of me?" He sat down on the side of the bed, putting his head in his hands.

"I didn't know what to think. You walked out on me when I begged you to stay. You were cold, hungry, tired, and miserable. You said terrible things – things that bother me terribly."

She hurt worse, hurting in ways that a pain potion couldn't fix. "Regardless, I forgive you. I know it was the locket talking. All that matters is that you came back."

Ron turned back to the bed, and saw that she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes took her out the window to the cliffs that cornered one side of the house. He stood there, watching her as seconds passed, and saw one tear leak out from the corner of her eyes.

"It wasn't just the locket."

Hermione turned her head back to him, watching Ron run his fingers through his scraggly ginger locks. His ears turned violently red, a sign of mortification.

"Ron?"

He turned and looked at her. Shame and resignation fought for space on his features.

"Do you really want to know?"

"I need to. But I need water first."


	9. Confessions

Ch. 9 Confessions

* * *

He signed, taking a small stride to the bed. "Budge over."

She lay there a few seconds, not moving.

"Damn it. Wait. I'll help."

After much awkward manipulation on his part, and a few stolen glances too, she was nestled back in his arms, as comfortable as she could be with a few broken bones.

"Comfortable?"

"For the most part."

"Warm enough?"

"Quit stalling Ron."

He huffed while finding his own place on the bed. The two of them made use of most of the twin bed in the small bedroom. Elbows nudged, hair moved, and cold toes made him finally settle down.

"Ron."

"Gimme a minute."

They lay together on the bed, listening to each other breathing. Hermione didn't hear the pitch battle going on inside his head. Her only clue to his problem was the bright red of his ears.

"Did you hear me when I was talking about the locket earlier?"

"Some, but it's just fragments now. You said I snogged Harry. The rest is fuzzy."

He had a grimace on his face. "The locket showed me my deepest fears. It didn't cause them. But it sure exposed them, whispering in my ear from the first moment I put the bloody thing on. Sometimes, it was Mum, telling me that I wasn't wanted once she had Ginny."

"Oh Ron, that's not true."

Ron continued. "It sort of is. I heard her telling Aunt Muriel as a kid that they quit having kids once they had Ginny. Even I could figure that one out."

"She didn't say that? She wouldn't."

Ron looked sheepish. "She did. She said that Ginny was special. That hurt, and I never told Mum I knew what she said."

"Oh Ron."

"Hermione, let me finish or I'll never have the nerve again."

She lay there in his arms, doing what he asked. His quiet was worse than his yelling.

"I never was as brilliant as Bill or Percy – as clever as the twins, nor as fearless as Charlie. At times, it felt like I was the spare to the rest of them. Mum had her hands full with the twins, and then when she had Ginny, the daughter she always wanted, I was an afterthought."

"That's not true. Your Mum loves you dearly. Even I see that."

Ron frowned. "Really? Try telling an eight year old whose mum didn't have time to fix his bleeding back when I feel off my broom. She was too busy scolding the twins for jinxing it to make it wobble. Charlie was the one who had to clean me up and give me something to make it all better."

"You don't still believe that, do you?"

"The eight year old still remembers, even if the eighteen year old man thinks he knows better. It's still a bit of a bother to hear your Mum's voice whispering such nasty things. I won't even repeat the other stuff."

Ron sighed. "But that wasn't all either. Sometimes, the voice would sound like Dad. Those hurt worse than Mum. If anything, his voice was the most honest – rationalizing why he was never at home to spend time with me. Always working, or fiddling in the shed with his gadgets, or too tired to come out and watch me ride."

Hermione threaded her hand from between their snuggled bodies, laying it on the sheet next to his. Barely a touch lit her skin on fire.

"Everyone I knew was a voice in my head. Harry was bad. In his voice, he'd say that I was holding us up from finishing our task or that I wasn't brave enough to keep going along. I'm not brave like him."

"Yes you are. You chose to be, Ron. Harry had no choice."

Ron looked down at the barmy witch lying on his chest, nearly holding his hand. A quarter inch felt like a mile. "The worst, so I thought, was you. The things you whispered were horrible. But then something else happened."

Ron fought the lump in his throat that appeared. "The locket showed me that I'm not good enough for you. You're brilliant, beautiful, talented, have more courage in your finger than five people I know. But seeing you snogging Harry – touching him like I dream of you touching me – it was too much. It showed you out of your kit, loving him like I want you to love me. That's why I was able to destroy the locket. For that one moment, I wanted to take the sword to Harry too. Watching you make love to Harry hurt terribly."

He sighed when she didn't say a word. "There isn't a minute I don't regret walking out on you. Sod Harry at this point. I broke my trust in you, and if I died tomorrow, it would be fitting payment for what I did to you."

"Don't say that. You can't mean that."

"Maybe, maybe not. I dunno at this point. So much we've gone through, together and separate. He looked down, broken beyond repair. 'In for a knut, pay with a Galleon.' "You tell me you forgive me. I can't forgive myself."

Hermione looked down at her hands, still covered in grime. The bandage on her left arm threaded up between their bodies, wrapping into her wrist. She threaded her hand into his, squeezing as hard as she could. Veins on the back of her hand stood out from the strain of her grip.

"Are you giving up on us?"

Blue eyes looked down at brown ones looking up. Where he was bereft, she was determined. "How can you trust me when I ran away from you once already?"

"I need you. I have faith in you. I chose you."

"You need me?"

"Why did you come back to me?"

Ron looked confused. "I need you. I can't live without you, even if you hate me."

"Exactly my point. But I don't hate you. Maybe angry as can be, but never hate you."

"But – "

"Listen to me, Ronald Weasley."

Silence stretched between them.

"Good. I need a man who needs me. I need a man who defends my honor from poncy prattish purebloods. I need a man who is willing to belch slugs for me." She grunted in pain. "I need a man who can stand up to me. And I want a man who will rescue me when I am too stubborn for my own good and get myself hurt."

Ron looked back down at the bushy haired witch in his arms. She snuggled further into his embrace, trying to find comfort with the broken bones she had. Hermione took a huge breath, wincing in pain from it. "I need a man who I can respect. I need a man who will hold my hands, talking all night trying to bring me out of the darkness. I need a man who can look at my tits and bits and still do the job."

Ron blushed fiercely at that compliment. "Yes, I heard that part."

She pushed her hand towards his, threading her fingers into his. His touch was fire.

She chuckled and he blushed harder. "I need a man who won't take advantage of me when I am at my worst. I need a man who trusts me to stand by his side, even when he's an arse. I need a man who can say he's sorry for making a mess of things. I need a man I can trust in a fight for her life."

One more huge breath from Hermione, and another wince of pain. "I need a man who knows the meaning of honor, integrity, and respect. I need a man who loves his Mum and whose hero is his Dad. I need a man who brings passion into my life, and makes me feel every second of it."

Ron looked down at their intertwined hands lying under the duvet. 'She's right. Every stinking bit of it. Isn't she always?'

'You could do better,' whispered the nasty voice in his mind. 'Better witches out there.'

"I waited for her. She's the best thing ever to happen to me," he quietly retorted.

"I am?"

He looked down, squeezing his hand firmly in hers. She winced again before he lessened the pressure on hers. "You are. I've been a tit for being afraid to admit it. But you are. From each canary peck to every twist of the Devil's snare, you make my life worth living. You're worth waiting for, losing sleep for, breaking my knuckles for."

"Ron?"

"Yea Hermione?"

"I forgive you. Please forgive yourself. I'll even help you with it. I'll share my cup with you."

He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead before the emotions welling inside finally broke. His teaspoon melted, and so did the tablespoon. He graduated to the shot glass, and it was threatening to crack.

She willingly joined him in sharing the emotional overload. She couldn't leave her best friend.

* * *

Fleur stood in the doorway watching the two on the bed weeping. She wanted to go in and ask, but thought better of it. Something about how they were embraced under the covers, with her still in her undergarments, spoke more than anything else. No snogging, hands in appropriate places, just two lovers learning to trust. Watching them was beautiful.

Bill came up behind his wife, placing a gentle kiss behind her ear. "Qu'elle es, ma chere?"

She smiled back. "They're beautiful."

"He loves her."

"And she loves him."

Bill smiled. "She'll drive him mad. She's brilliant so I am told. Things he won't understand she'll grasp immediately."

Fleur turned and slid her arms around her husband. His voice was soothing this early in the morning, before the others were awake.

"And he'll do the same." Bill whispered in her ear. "He sees things that others discount, and knows how to use it to his advantage. He's a chess master. He'll be amazing once he believes in himself.

Fleur kissed his chin. "She makes him a better man."

He laughed in her ear. "And he'll teach her to laugh again."

Fleur pulled back, looking into his ocean blue eyes. "Will he keep his word?"

"He chose to the minute he left to find her again."

"Think they'll make it?"

"I do. They have something to live for. Each other."

Bill pulled the door to, letting the new couple have their privacy.


	10. Side effects

Ch. 10 Side Effects

* * *

Hermione stood on the bluff overlooking the ocean. Winds whipping off of the surf buffeted her. She wasn't cold, even shivering slightly. A warming charm, along with a flannel housecoat, and spare jumper kept her comfortable.

The shivers were from her hands: an unfortunate side effect from the repeated Cruciatus curse. Bill didn't know how long it would last – or if it would ever go away. He said she would have to ask a healer at St. Mungo's in the Magical Damage ward if they knew the answer. But for now, she would make do.

She leaned on the walking stick in her left hand, relishing the support it gave her while the wind whipped around her. Her right hand held a different kind of wood. No matter how close or far from Ron she was, she held that monstrosity in her right hand, wondering if the battle earned wand in her hand would bend to her will. 'Am I strong enough to master this one? Am I smart enough to make it yield?'

Her original wand was lost, somewhere between the Forest of Dean and Malfoy Manor. 'They probably snapped it once they realized it was mine,' she thought bitterly. 'If they confiscate wands from normal muggleborns, what would they do for mine, Undesirable number two?'

At some point, when Ollivander was healthy enough and well enough to talk, she would ask him his opinion. She would also have to test it and see if it would work well for her, of if she would need another one before anything else happened.

Fourteen days had passed since they arrived at Shell Cottage. Twelve since she first awoke. Ten since she was able to tolerate being lifted by Bill and Ron to the loo across the hall for a much needed bath, courtesy of Fleur and Luna. It was bad enough that Ron saw her in her knickers and bra – he was rather bashful admitting to that – but he made it worse by offering to help her in there. Mortification seared her memory of that conversation. She tolerated through furious blushes when the other two girls helped her in the tub. She was in no condition that first day to do anything to help herself.

Nine days since she was barely strong enough to sit up in the bed with assistance. The three blankets that engulfed her weren't enough to keep her warm that first day. Only Ron could warm her with a gentle touch of his hand on hers. It wasn't bad, since Ron sat on the bed with her, talking, before Harry broke into the room wanting to discuss what they needed to do next. Poor Hermione had to endure that row between her best friends, before Bill came in and shut that discussion down in a hurry.

She lay back down in the bed once Harry left the room, feeling the weight of responsibility settle back on her shoulders. The hand knitted afghan was comforting, even if she was constantly cold now.

Sleep claimed her before Ron returned, snuggling into the blankets with her to keep her warm and comfortable. Ever since that fateful day, she could never get warm enough. Socks, flannel bedclothes, flannel housecoats – nothing was warm enough. Only Ron's touch would do.

That afternoon, Ron and Harry finished their row out in the dunes. Fortunately, no blows were had – just red faces and sore throats. They came back and sat quietly with her while Luna brushed her hair. Hermione wasn't one to relish girly indulgences, but Luna brushing her hair after a bath was exquisite. What was nicer was that Luna helped her with her bath, keeping her company and talking about wistful things. Hermione knew she had problems too, but didn't want to push the diminutive blonde on what happened also. 'Someday,' she thought, 'we'll be able to share, if we survive.'

Six days since she was told what happened after they apparated from the Forest of Dean to visit Xenophilius Lovegood – and what happened afterwards. Everyone was there, save Ollivander. He was still extremely weak and having trouble. Bill spent much time helping him since Ron was taking care of Hermione mostly. Hermione shook a touch harder, recounting the telling of what happened.

She knew that they withheld many details from her. She could see it in Ron's eyes when Harry was talking about what happened – and how she got the burn on her chest, the carving on her arm, and the scar on her neck. When Harry told them how she got the scar on her neck, she became violently ill and begged Ron to take her up to the bed. He didn't hesitate to carry her all the way, hearing her weep until they were in their room and sealed off from the rest of the gathering. Only then could she sob like a child.

He never left her side.

She scratched at the one on her neck without realizing it. It was covered, a dressing to keep the salt and sand out of it while it continued to heal. She had matching dressings on her arm and on the burn on her chest. It didn't itch when she had the atrocious smelling green paste on it. Neither did the carving on her arm, which didn't make sense. Bill said that since it was so complicated, he couldn't stitch it. It would have to heal naturally. Wounds usually started to heal after a day if they were stitched or otherwise attended to. It should itch if it was healing. 'So bothersome.'

One day since their arrival could she toddle around their property with the walking stick in her hand. Bill asked her not to go past the wards, since he didn't want her to get lost. The house was under a Fidelus Charm, and Bill was the secret keeper. He didn't tell anyone else save Fleur and Ron.

Hermione knew she wasn't strong enough yet to do anything else. Harry insisted that they start planning their next move, but Hermione was still easily exhausted from simple exertion. He would get frustrated, Ron would yell, and their planning session would reduce her to anguish. She feared that they would have to leave her behind if she couldn't pull her weight with them.

Someone would step in at that point to calm the guys down.

She was in bed this morning, trying to rest after she was awoken again from her tormented nightmares. Ron snored while snuggling in bed with her. Not a night passed since she woke that he wasn't nestled in the bed with her, dressed too warm for his personal tastes. His mere presence kept her nightmares away. He said she kept his nightmares away too. Too much had happened since his brother's wedding not to find any reason to keep the nightmares away – and catch some much needed sleep.

The temptation to have Ron sleep in less than his jumper was a growing problem. She lay in the bed next to him, looking at her ginger knight sleeping next to her. Ever the gentleman, he hadn't tried anything. He was content for words and holding hands.

She wished he would.

So instead of trying to go back to sleep at half six this morning, she slid out from his warm embrace, and dressed quickly. Her flannel pajamas and her housecoat weren't enough against the morning chill of the surf, so she changed into denim trousers, a thin jumper, and another one on top of it. An overcoat topped the rest of her attire.

She put her hand under her pillow, feeling the walnut wand slide into her fingers. It was cold like everything else, and didn't feel right in her fingers. She grasped it hard, forcing her will onto it. She would master it one day.

* * *

Hermione looked down at the wand in her hand. Memory tickled her, one that was being particularly illusive. Logic that never failed her before was troublesome now. Clues to their next task were just on the tip of her mind.

Cackles froze her. She stood there almost paralyzed, hearing the voice piecing her ears.

_"How did you get into my vault?"_ a screech tore through her mind.

Pain. Burning. _"Where did you get that from?"_

Burning. Pain. Sherry mixed with sweat made her nauseous. _"We found it."_

"_How did you get into my vault?"_

"_We've never been in your vault."_

_Crucio!_

She flinched involuntarily, anticipating the resulting pain associated with that word.

'Memory can't hurt you,' whispered her father's voice. 'But they can help.'

"_You have been inside my vault at Gringott's. Tell the truth, Tell the Truth!"_

"_What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"_

"…_what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"_*****

A warm hand closed over her own. She jumped, spinning around and pointing the wand right in Ron's chest. "Hermione, it's me. Ron. Lower your wand!"

She blinked, realizing that she nearly hurt him in panic. She lowered the wand, feeling the shame that she didn't know it was him at first. A lump in her throat held back her recriminations.

"Come here. I'll protect you."

She collapsed into his waiting arms, feeling warm for the first time all morning. Safety lay in his embrace.

He kissed the top of her head. He was unafraid to show her what he felt, and she was accepting of his actions. "When I woke this morning, you were out of the bed."

She tightened her arms around his narrow waist, feeling the hips protruding over the top of his trousers and through his bulky jumper. "I couldn't sleep anymore. I think I've slept too much lately and my mind gets bored."

He chuckled. "You're probably bored to tears now listening to me most nights while you fall asleep."

Years of emotional torment washed away the second he broke her ribs the second time. Bill healed her broken bones five days after she woke once the threshold of the dark magic residue was gone. Hermione squeezed him as hard as she could. She wouldn't tire of this, not after waiting so long for it.

"Hey, what's got into you? Are you upset?"

"I know what we have to do."

"You do?"

She nodded while still holding onto his lean torso.

He pulled back, tipping her face up to his. "So share, my brilliant witch."

"Ron!"

They turned and saw Harry trudging through the beach scrub that lined the property. "Why are you out here this early? Bloody cold out here."

Ron looked back down at the witch in his arms. A huge sigh escaped him. "You ok?"

She nodded before turning her attention to Harry. "Let's go inside. I'm chilled, but I know what we need to do next."

"Really?" he replied in shock.

Hermione looked down at the wand in her hand. The walnut and dragon heart string wand in her hand represented the worst day of her life – and also the next step in saving the world she chose to live in. The paranoid monster unwittingly helped them.

'Courage, dear. Life is painful, and worth it.' She missed her Dad's voice.

'Yes, Dad. I won't fail you.'

She looked up, and Harry stepped back. Determination hardened her features.

Holding Ron's hand in her left, and her battle wand in her right, she took the first step in picking her path, and strode back towards the cottage.

* * *

_A/N: Quotes borrowed in fair use from the HP7: DH book, American Version. – D.G._


	11. It's Gonna Fight

Ch. 11 "It's Gonna Fight"

Hermione stood in the cold antechamber, listening to her ginger knight hiss in imitation of Harry. In her ears, it sounded like gibberish, bouncing off the walls in echo.

Yet there they still stood, Ron trying desperately to open the huge door. She stood quietly, letting him work. Their conversations over the last few weeks echoed in her mind while he worked on opening the door in Parseltongue.

* * *

Ron was neither thick nor stupid. She came to realize this one night while snuggled in his arms in that miniscule bed they shared. He was slower in thought, but also deeper as well. Personal berating aside, she came to appreciate that he was a chess master – confused as she was about people, he saw patterns and logic on a different level, with people and events. What he needed was time and patience while he considered what confused him, give him time to work through it then stumble through with lacking eloquence.

That night, before she woke, and he had time to talk without her interruption did wonders for him. He told her rather directly that it was the first time ever that she let him say everything he ever wanted without her arguing with him. She hit him on the arm for it, but the smile on her face gave away her demeanor. The change in him was a delight.

He felt, passionately. She saw that now. For Ron Weasley, it's all or nothing. He did nothing half-arsed when he put his mind to it. He was also easily frustrated when he couldn't understand something. If anything, his volatility hindered him.

Her recovery from the night at Malfoy Manor took time. She wasn't completely healthy. The wound on her arm still throbbed from time to time, along with some residual itching on her neck. The burn on her chest was still angry, even with slathering of that nasty paste. She kept it now in her beaded bag now on her back.

That also didn't include her fatigue. For the first two weeks, she couldn't walk around the property at the cottage without that blasted walking stick, and would nap multiple times a day to recover. Only in the last ten days did she push harder, enduring longer before falling in exhaustion into Ron's arms. In the last five, she discarded the stick, throwing away her crutch that held her back. She made her decision to keep up with the men leading the charge.

Fleur mentioned that dark magic residue would drain her for longer than anticipated. She didn't care since they had a job to do, and intended to do it. They needed her, and she would be arsed if they had to leave her behind. So, from the moment she awoke in the morning, to when Ron would carry her to the bed asleep wherever she fell, she pushed. She struggled. She demanded more of herself.

'You're not doing enough,' whispered Harry in her mind, something he said months prior after they abandoned Grimmauld Place. His unintentional motivation helped drive her when her body wanted to give out.

'I get it. You choose him,' whispered Ron in her mind when he stormed out of their lives in a rage. His fury drove her to work her mind harder, pouring over spell books and more to find the path they needed to end this war.

'Filthy Mudblood,' haunted her memory every time she picked up the bent walnut wand. She still worked with it, channeling her ability through the unyielding dragon heartstring.

Ollivander woke after she did, and when she had a break from Harry's incessant planning, she spent an hour discussing the wand with him in the bed where he lay. In the miniscule bed, he took the wand proffered, and verified it was Lestrange's wand. The discussed minutiae of wand lore, as well as a hasty testing on her part in his presence. He said that the wand was still deciding if she was worthy, ready to ride the tiger that it was. She had no choice but to use it. Their mission to Gringott's demanded it. She needed to master it, even if it made her sick.

Each time before she touched the bent wand, she hesitated. It was uncomfortable in her hand, coarse and brittle under her ink stained fingertips. The flashbacks to her first day of broom lessons felt the same way. She had no confidence in the wand she was bequeathed. She questioned herself in those quiet moments in the middle of night when she awoke to Ron's snore.

So each day, on her morning walk in the surf, she wielded the wand, learning how to avoid flinching when she cast a spell, or working charms to build her magic back up. It worked, but not flawlessly. It didn't fit her fingers right, didn't flick and swish easily. It performed like wands do, but she couldn't. The memory of pain was still great.

* * *

Hermione slipped her hand in his, maintaining her silence. A stolen glance in his direction betrayed his change in demeanor. His ears flushed along with his face. A deep breath and he tried again, hissing just a touch slower.

A squeal, followed by metallic grinding buffeted her ears. Mouldy stench battered her nose from the slow opening hatch.

* * *

She lay on the marble drawing room floor, sobbing from the pain that flowed through her body. Taunts and deprecations battered her, from Bellatrix who was still interrogating her to the source of the sword, to Greyback, who whispered cruelties in her ear. She was powerless to fight back.

"When I'm done with you, leaving you a bleeding husk, I'll turn my attention to the ginger downstairs. I bet he's a tasty morsel."

She scowled, but it came out a grimace. "Don't touch him!" She could only whisper when her mind screamed.

"Really? You? Tasty morsel like yourself can't stop me."

He sniffed down from her ear to her face, and onto her neck. He stopped at the crux of her shoulder to neck, licking her.

He pulled back to look right in her face, nose to nose. "He's not even tasted your flesh." He snarled into a grotesque smile, full of malice and loathing. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you."

His rancid breath in her face made her vomit.

* * *

A pull on her hand broke her waking nightmare. Ron stood next to her, looking concerned. "Come on, no dawdling. We've got a job to do."

He led her into the chamber, treading carefully on the slime covered floor. The brackish water in the chamber, along with the mold everywhere, made the stone tiles slick to walk on. "Smells like the pond at home before the fall rains start."

"I didn't remember the pond smelling this way."

"It's not been this way in years. Once dad put some kind of fish in it, the smell went away. We never asked, but it changed a few years ago."

"Oh. I didn't realize there were fish in the pond."

"We've not swam in it in years. Charlie loved being out there, but when he left, the rest of us just quit playing in it."

"Oh."

They carefully tread deeper into the chamber.

* * *

Hermione gasped when she understood the enormity of the beast that lay skeletal in front of her. "Dear Merlin, Harry killed this monster with the sword second year? How did he do it?"

Ron only nodded. "You don't realize how massive it is. No one's ever seen one and lived to tell about it. The entry of Magical Creatures is rubbish compared to this."

Hermione could only nod numbly. 'Just another tale to add to the myth.' She shook her head to clear the image in front of her.

Ron stepped up to the desiccated remains. Pale white bones stood out in the green coated chamber. A squish on his boots gave off an additional deplorable odour.

"Oh Merlin, what was that?"

Ron looked down and grimaced. "That might've been an eyeball. Smells disgusting." He continued to reach out for the incisor in front of his hand. "Let me do this. I don't want you slipping on this mess."

She nodded while he went back to work.

"Basilisk venom is still lethal is if pierces the skin. See this?" he pointed to the tar like residue on the end of the tooth. "That's the stuff that gives it the lethality. Of course, getting bit by this monster probably would kill you too even if he wasn't venomous. But that doesn't even count the fatal stare."

Hermione watched while Ron yanked the fang from the skull. "You listened in class. That's wonderful."

"Nah. We had an old copy of Fantastic Beasts that I used to love reading through. When I was sick in bed with Dragon Pox, Percy would read to me the book. He's a prat, but he could read well when he was nine. I was mesmerized by his telling."

Ron worked diligently, never taking his eyes off of the task in his hands. Each fang he wrenched out was tossed over his shoulder to her.

"How many you think we need?"

She looked down at the three in her hands. "Two more should do it."

He wrestled with the last two teeth, taking the sharpest on the roof. A clatter in the expansive chamber rattled her. "Now we're ready for battle."

"Battle?"

Ron nodded. "You think that's just an ordinary cup? Nah. That thing's gonna put up a fight. And you're gonna kill it."

"Me? Why me?"

He looked at her, cocking his head to the side. "It's your turn. Harry took care of the diary. Dumbledore, the ring. I had the locket. The cup is yours."

She frowned.

"Didn't you say that I had the emotional depth of a teaspoon? Serves you right that you get to kill the cup. It holds more than a teaspoon."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Fine," she huffed. She picked up the longest fang, testing the weight of it.

"Wait!"

"What?" she huffed again.

"It's gonna fight, fight hard. It'll show you things, things that aren't true. Mess with your mind things."

She looked down at the decayed scimitar in her hands. "What did it show you? What wasn't true?"

Ron walked over, and took her wand hand in his own. He knelt down next to her. Warm breath flowed over her skin, tickling the fine hairs along her ear.

"It said you didn't love me. It showed me that you loved Harry, and was rather graphic about it. "

She turned to look him square in his eyes. Sadness showed. "Only after you woke at Shell Cottage did I know that to be a lie. You woke for me, and no one else."

She looked back down at the pitted fang in her hands. "I loved you for years. Walking out made it worse. I was afraid to show you, if you didn't feel the same way."

He tipped her head back up, looking at her again. Neither could speak. He leaned in, and kissed her gently on the forehead. She opened her eyes, and saw steely determination on his face. "Be ready."

Instead of weeping, she hardened her features. A huge breath and she gripped the fang in her hands.

He scrabbled to the other side of the cup, holding it between his hands. "It might take two stabs to do it. Bone isn't as strong as goblin silver."

One more nod, and she was ready. He gripped the cup harder. She gripped the basilisk fang in hers.

"Ready when you are, love."

She raised the fang above her head.


	12. Dreamscapes

Ch. 12 Dreamscapes

* * *

Ron looked down at Hermione. She held the implement in her petite hands.

"Ready when you are, love."

She raised the fang above her head.

Ron hissed sounding like someone stepped on his favorite toy.

The cup glowed. Mist formed inside the golden chalice.

_"Hermione Granger, I have read your mind, and it's not worth reading."_

Ron sat there, waiting to see if Hermione would act. 'Why won't she strike?'

_"I have looked into your soul, and show it wanting," crooned the voice in her ear._

* * *

Seconds passed, and terrible realization struck him like a batted bludger: she was hearing the monster, like he did. Only, her beast wasn't showing itself. Cowardly monster was hiding in her mind.

He watched in horror that his best friend was drawn in like he was. She was frozen, poised to stab the cup, yet her arms stayed in place. One downward stroke and they would be free.

"Hermione!" Ron bellowed.

* * *

_"Hermione," the soft baritone voice crooned onward, reciting her thoughts. "Brilliant and gifted, but never completely appreciated. You give completely so others will accept you. They don't – giving back only bitter resentment. Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. Few understand how flawed and tarnished of a treasure you are. You hide in your books, unable to cope with the chaos of life around you. Your friends only accept you because they need you. You're too rigid to accept what you don't read in a book."_

The faceless baritone voice was enticing, speaking logically, and drown out all other sound.

_"You're pathetic. Your thoughts are random, like a badly written tome. No order to your muggle madness. You're not worth the wand for which you were accidently given. You're not worth the magic stolen from another more worthy."_

Ron screamed, coming across as a whisper. "Stab it! Hurry!"

* * *

Stale sherry assailed her nose, making her gag. The face in front of her own, standing before the rest of the witnesses in the room, scared her witless. "All except…. except for the Mudblood."

"Filthy little Mudblood," whispered the charismatic voice in her mind. "You're repugnant."

Bellatrix stood nose to nose, hissing. "Tell me, where did you get that sword. Tell me, and I'll kill you quick. I'll even deign to kill you like a witch. Won't even hurt."

Hermione shook, hearing her mother's words no matter how hard she wanted to lie. "We found it, in a pond."

"Liar!" Bellatrix hissed. "That sword was in my vault."

"By Merlin's magic, I swear it."

Pain. Burning. A scream tore from her throat. She tasted blood and felt cold marble on her face. The chill was a welcome change.

"Hermione!"

'Ron!'

The mad witch yanked her up by her dirt stained hair, nearly pulling chunks out of it. "Disgusting wench. You are not worthy to breathe his name. Nasty little muggle."

Lestrange threw her back to the floor of the drawing room, hissing instructions to Grayback. He scrambled forward, doing the harsh mistress bidding.

She was thrust onto her back, held in place by the werewolf. "Live or die, you will be marked like the animal you are. Hold her."

Greyback whispered nastiness. The first cut into her arm tore another scream from her throat. She couldn't hear the rest.

Burning. Pain. Relief.

"Hermione!"

'Ron!'

Another cruel taunt.

Burning. Pain. Relief. She screamed again.

"He's not even tasted you."

"Hermione!"

"Not even worth biting."

_"Too stupid to die like a good muggle."_

* * *

Ron took his hands off of the cup, watching the swirling mist bubble in the bowl. Black fought with light, like a bad potion, threatening to bubble over.

"Hermione, stab it! For the love of Merlin, kill it!"

She didn't acknowledge his demand.

* * *

"Brightest witch of her age and she can't understand that. It's really quite simple. He chose me."

Hermione lay in bed with the curtains closed, listening to Pavarti discuss with Lavender her evening that she spent with Ron.

_"Hiding in your bed rather than facing facts. Your best friend doesn't even desire you."_

'That's not true,' she whispered.

"He's an amazing kisser, and those hands of his. Wow. So powerful. But that hair of his, so soft and fine textured. Almost like rabbit fur."

Hermione couldn't hear Pavarti. 'Maybe she knows I'm here.'

"Silly bint shouldn't have been afraid to do something about him. I don't care why she waited, but that's in the past. He's mine now, and I'm going to see how far he'll take me."

Hermione found her wand on the edge of the bed, flourishing it silently to muffle the noise.

"But if he's anything like the twins, the saying will hold. Red on the head, fire down below. I can't wait to find out. His hands tonight..."

Hermione turned into her pillow, letting the goose feathers take her tears.

_"Your fear held you back, and now, you lost that which you found most precious."_

* * *

He scrambled back on hands and knees to Hermione, still frozen poised to stab the cup with the fang.

He looked closely, and saw her melted chocolate eyes were slowly gaining a red haze to them.

* * *

Snape glared at her in the darkness of the room. His voice, like velvet, was menacing. "Can you not control yourself, Miss Granger, or do enjoy being an insufferable know-it-all?"

Ron's voice echoed in her mind. "He's got a point, you know?"

That rich voice whispered,_ "Your mentors resent you. You're a threat to them. You're too stiff intellectually to believe what you don't read."_

Hermione put her hand down, fighting the humiliation from the one teacher that she wanted approval from.

"Werewolf…. Term comes from the…"

_"You're a swotty know it all, desperately drawing attention to yourself rather than for those others who are more worthy. Selfish mudblood."_

'That's not true,' she whispered.

* * *

"Mr. Granger, we have to ask you to withdraw her from class. I'm sorry, but she needs a better school where she can flourish. In her current class, she's a disruption. She doesn't let the other kids answer questions. They sit there and let her do the work for them. They don't learn a thing when she's in the class. She's even corrected the teacher a time or two."

That charismatic voice crooned in her ears, seductive like a lover - a vicious one._ "As a child, you had to one up your betters. Cheeky even as a child. Arrogant you are, thinking you were better than those who could teach you."_

'That's not true.'

Ten year old Hermione sat in the chair next to her mum, fighting the tears threatening to consume her. The book in her lap lay open, but she couldn't find the desire to read it.

"We can't have that. Not any longer."

* * *

"Hermione, fight him, please! Come back to me. I need you."

* * *

"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Granger. It's Hermione. I can't get her to stop crying."

Hermione sat in the little chair in the corner of the tiny room, holding her knees to her chin. Tear tracks marred her small face. She saw who walked in and tried to hide her face.

Jean Granger walked over, and sat on the stool in front of her daughter. "Hermione. What's wrong dear?"

Big brown eyes looked up from her knees. Red splotches covered her face. High pitched sniffles bounced around the small closet, echoing out into the larger class room. "Eddie said something mean," said seven year old Hermione in a whisper.

"What did he say dear?"

'_The other students despise you.'_

Hermione sat on her chair, curling even tighter into a ball. "You'll get mad at me if I tell you."

"That's not true. What do we say at home? 'Always tell the truth?' You won't get into trouble for telling it."

She screwed up her face even harder, looking like she wanted to scream in frustration.

"He said, 'Won't she ever shut up?'"

"He didn't?"

Hermione furiously nodded her head. "He's so mean to me, pulling my hair when I'm reading, laughing at me when I answer the teacher's questions. I can't help it he's stupid."

"You don't say that. That's not nice to say about anyone."

"But it's true, Mummy. He is stupid."

Mrs. Granger took the teacher and they walked a few away from the pouting Hermione on her chair.

"Is that true? The kids laugh at her and make fun of her in class? This Eddie pulls her hair?"

"_Too weak to endure the pain. Had to get Mummy to help. Pathetic."_

'I'm not weak,' said the small voice in her head. I'm not pathetic.'

"I'm sorry Mr. Granger, but the other kids don't know how to deal with her. She's too smart for my class. The other kids tease her because she knows the answer to everything I ask. Eddie is mean to her admittedly. I've tried to keep him away from her, but he makes fun of her no matter where she is in class. He will, on occasion, call her ferret because of her teeth."

"That's unacceptable. I shall speak with the headmaster forthwith."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Granger."

"Come Hermione, we're going to the headmaster's office."

* * *

Ron watched as the fang shivered precariously in her hands. The point of the fang slowly tilted, moving from perpendicular to acute.

'Oh Merlin, no.'

He moved, kneeling behind her. "Hermione Jean Granger."

* * *

"Hermione Jean Granger, what have you done?"

The tray of chocolate torte lay splattered on the floor, splattered on Hermione's pretty pink dress, and on her shoes also. Big brown eyes looked up in confusion. "I asked you a question young lady. What happened?"

"I don't know, Mummy. I thought about a piece of cake, and then it flew right at me. I didn't touch it, I swear."

"Likely story, young lady."

"But Mummy!"

"_You were too blind to the obvious in front of you. __Years it took for you to understand that you were a witch. __Too rigid to accept that which you don't read in a book. _You're a pathetic excuse for a witch who should have never been shown our world. "

'That's not true. Once I met McGonagall, and she told me, everything made sense.'

"Not another word, young lady. Off to your room. You're grounded for the night. I'll be there shortly after I clean this mess. Your grandparents will be terribly upset that they can't have their anniversary cake."

Fat tears fell from her face when she trudged back up the stairs of their home.

"Mummy never believes me," wept five year old Hermione as she sat in the corner of her bedroom sobbing. "I didn't do it."

* * *

He wrapped his long arms around her, threading one of his hands into her. The shaking of her arms grew progressively worse. He nuzzled the back of her ear, breathing hot air into her hearing. Her brown eyes flickered with the madness she fought. "Hermione," he whispered. He took the other hand, and pulled her face to his.

She didn't see the cerulean ones in front of her face.

* * *

"Hermione."

The baritone voice spoke up. "_You're afraid to embrace what you don't understand."_

'It's not true. I accepted I was a witch, didn't I?'

The voice crooned. _"You're shunned by those around you because they don't understand you. You're too smart for your own good."_

'I don't need them if they won't accept me,' she hissed in reply.

"I miss you like crazy," whispered the voice from somewhere.

The voice of Lavender spoke up. _'No wonder why he didn't pick her. She's mental, that one.'_

Pavarti replied, _'She's not good enough for him.'_

"I will fight for you," insisted a familiar voice from afar.

Dean spoke up. _'Why does he see in her? She's a nightmare.'_

"I need you," she heard the insistent voice she dreamt of.

'Ron!'

_'Hermione, put down that book and come here,'_ hissed her father distantly.

Riddle hissed further. _'Too brittle to cope with the feelings you have. Too fragile to tell him that you love him.'_

"I love you," came Ron's voice.

Her whisper was the first she uttered. "That's not true. He knows. I love him."

Fire spread through her veins, igniting her soul. The charismatic baritone shattered in rage, screaming as it exploded in a cacophony of sound.

"Together," she heard whispered in the silence of the chamber.

* * *

He released her face, barely remembering the soft cracked lips he barely touched with his own.

Ron saw the color return to her features, the bloom of color on her neck under the patch. Hands steadied against the aged fang in her grasp. Warm chocolate eyes glanced over her shoulder, seeing him embracing her, steadying her features. She never questioned why he was there with her, why he wasn't in front of her, holding the cup. She trusted him to hold her hand through everything else they would go through. Whether that was an hour, or a lifetime was up in the air.

"Together, on the count of three."

He threaded his other hand into hers, poised above the swirling cup.

She nodded and turned her determined face back to the cup in front of her on the stone floor. She watched the dark mist swirling the chalice, bubbling against the white mist also enclosed.

She felt his rapid heartbeat through his hands, feeling his hot breath against her chilled skin.

"One," she whispered.

"Aim for the center. The forging is weakest there."

Heartbeat.

"Two," she said louder.

"The bone will shatter, unlike goblin silver. Don't be afraid to stab again."

"Three."

Bone pierced gold, imbibing the cup with basilisk venom. A high pitched whine echoed through the chamber, slowly dying unlike a phoenix song.

They watched the maelstrom in the cup bubble over, spreading darkness around them. Second by second, it dissipated.

* * *

Hermione took a breath, not realizing she had been holding it.

"Together."

"Now what the bloody hell was that about?"

"Ronald!"

"Come on Hermione? You froze."

"I didn't. Wasn't a second."

Ron ran his hands through his sooty ginger locks. "No, that was considerably longer than a second. You held there for a good minute."

She knelt before the destroyed cup, trying to remember. Fog shifted through her mind.

"I – "

A deep bass blast echoed through the chamber. Rocks skittered across the entrance.

"Bloody hell was that?"

She looked at the teeth laying on the floor surrounding her.

"Get the broom. I'll get the teeth. We're leaving."

"Yea. We have a war to help win."

She picked up the walnut wand laying beside her hip. The second she touched it, gold sparks flew from the end.

She grinned. The wand chose the wizard. 'Time to fight.'


	13. Epilogue and Postscript

Epilogue

* * *

Hermione rushed into the Great Hall, barely coping with the chaos that churned around her. Fighting was breaking out all over, and friends were battling hooded monsters in masks.

She glanced right, and saw the monster of her torments stroll into the hall like a queen at a receiving line. Fury made her haze narrow and her vision darken. 'Finally, a monster of my own, one who is worthy.'

She didn't see Ron fighting his own battle back behind her. She only had eyes for the maniac in front of her.

* * *

Hermione's hand shook holding the vial of the disgusting potion she was about to consume. It was her idea anyway to do this, and she couldn't ask the other two do follow through on this duty. She needed them to do their parts too. She had to impersonate that mad bint to try and pull it off. The wand might not have chosen her yet, but that wouldn't stop her from trying.

She tipped back the vile concoction, wishing she didn't have to get inside the monster's skin. At least she wouldn't be subjected to her broken mind as well. 'Some consolation,' she thought. She waited those impossible seconds for the effects to take hold.

She dropped the glass container, shattering on the floor. The pain emanated from her stomach, radiating outward. She watched as her hands began to wither slightly, feeling her bones shrink just enough, and looked down to see her breasts grow in size. 'Ron'd love that. There's enough to look like Lavender now.'

Her skin boiled before settling down. A look at the mirror in front of her, and she was filled with revulsion. The monster of her nightmares was staring back at her from the reflection. 'Time to get the treasure.'

* * *

Mortification rolled across her. 'He's right, I'm being stupid. It's like the wand – I have to master my fear.'

The group walked into Gringott's. She didn't know if she could swagger like the maniac she was trying to imitate. It didn't matter what she thought, or felt. She had to act, to challenge, to do. Ron and Harry depended on her. Griphook too, if only in benefit.

* * *

Hermione growled, recalling how disgusting she felt inside that monster's skin. A scrubbing with dragon dung would have been more pleasant. Listening to immature mandrakes would sound better than the screech from her mouth.

The moment they went through the Thieves Downfall at Gringotts was the best feeling in the world. She felt cleaned from the mania and paranoia that seemed to seep from her skin, coating her pores in vile cruelty.

No matter how she felt, they still had work to do.

* * *

She turned and stalked towards her own battle, eyeing her foe. "Oh, my, it's the Mad Muggle in the flesh. I see you have what is rightfully mine. Time to give back my property, nasty little mudblood."

Hermione scowled, the blood rushing to her ears. The cacophony in the hall dimmed to just the two of them. She only had eyes for the bushy haired maniac in front of her. She expected no quarter this time around. Bellatrix wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

"Oh now, angry are we? Didn't like how I treated you last time? How silly of me. I should have slit your throat when I had the chance. That ginger should have learned how filthy you blood really is."

Hermione conjured bluebell fire, throwing a massive blast at the carping witch in front of her. A hasty shield spell protected her at the very last second. The concussion from the impact threw Bellatrix to her feet, still shielded from the madness brewing around them.

"You tripped me, wench. How dare you!"

Hermione stole a glance to her left and saw Luna Lovegood on her shoulder. A grimace was plastered on her face. "That's for hurting my father, crone."

Bellatrix stood back up, throwing a white fiery blast at her opponents, trying to dislodge their positions. "Two on one? Now it's getting fun."

A red slash burned across the shield in front of Lestrange. "What have we now? Three on one? Now it's a close to a fair fight."

Hermione glanced right and saw red flowing hair beside her, a terrible glee on her best friend's face.

Hermione turned her attention back on the mad witch in front of her. Wand flourishes flew back and forth between the two of them, with the two younger witches trying to find an opening. They were hindered by their need to speak. Saying their spells gave the sociopath in front of them the advantage.

_'You've got to mean it,'_ hisses a voice in her mind. _'You know the spell. Kill her and have your vengeance.'_

"Liar!" she hissed.

The monster in her head would not compel her again. He'd wreaked enough damage on her to last a lifetime. He damaged Ron in ways that she was only beginning to understand, and help him recover from. But no matter how nasty the taunts in her mind, she wouldn't cross that line.

Hermione threw spell after spell, trying to batter down the impenetrable shield in front of her. If she could take it down, the other two could take her out. All that mattered was taking out the monster in front of her. Other spells would work better than an unforgiveable curse.

"Should have carved you like the squealing pig you are. Filthy Mudblood."

Anger roared inside Hermione. Another blast of bluebell fire battered the dancing witch in front of her.

Green passed to her right, nearly hitting Ginny in the head. Inches, really.

"_Not my daughter, you bitch!"_

'Who?'

Hermione was flung away from the fight, landing a few feet away on her bum. The impact on the masonry floor rattled her vision. Stars fluttered through her field of vision. Noise was all around her. Her bloodlust was broken.

She looked up and there was Molly Weasley, throwing spells like a mother dragon protecting her nest. The stone floor beneath the dueling witches' feet was slowly turning to sand beneath the heat of their spell work. 'Fighting is hot work,' Tonks voice echoed in her mind.

She shook her head, trying to clear the stars that were fogging her vision. "Molly?" Her bum ached from landing on it so hard.

She tried to stand, but lost her footing. The stones were hot and slick, probably from the number of people in the chamber fighting. She looked up, and saw a pale hand reaching down to her. Impossibly blue eyes were behind the assisting hand.

"Get your arse up!" growled Luna. "She needs us."

Hermione was hauled up from her position, and knelt where she fell. A shield spell for Molly would do.

The two girls worked in tandem, protecting Molly while she flung spell after spell at Bellatrix.

Hermione stole a glance further right, and saw that Ginny had hit Bellatrix with a stinging jinx, throwing her slightly right just a second. Luna hit her with a stunning spell, freezing Lestrange for a second. It was just enough. Green light flew from Molly's wand, killing the monster in front of them.

Hermione stole a glance to her left, watching in slow motion the blast that took out Shacklebolt, McGonagall and Slughorn. Red slit eyes turned their way, and Hermione threw everything she had into the shield spell protecting Molly.

A second shield spell protected them all, and there stood Harry, looking the Chosen One everyone said he was.

* * *

Hermione looked and found Ron supporting Neville. Both were covered in blood, and Neville was holding the Sword of Gryffindor in his hand. She stumbled to Ron's other side, intending to help him support Neville.

"One more," she heard whispered into her ear. "You ready?"

Hermione's wand hand shook. She struggled to keep her hard earned and now mastered wand pointed in the general direction of the last two combatants. Through the tremors she nudged her way forward to the front of the circle, ready to do battle again should Harry fail. 'He won't. It's Harry,' whispered the voice in her head. It sounded like Dumbledore.

"Together," she whispered, leaving a light kiss on his grime covered knuckle.

* * *

One minute later, the world changed. She hoped it was for the better.

* * *

With Harry's last errand completed, and he safely ensconced in a bed in Gryffindor tower, they stood in the Common room floors below. The solitude was a welcome relief after the chaos, mayhem, and cacophony they had earlier.

Brown eyes met blue, blood crusted hands covered ink stained ones. Rapid heartbeats complimented one another. Nothing around the two standing alone in the room meant anything.

"Ron?"

"Yea?"

"We're alive."

"We are."

"How?"

"I dunno."

"What do we do now?"

He took a step closer. He never left her eyes. Drowning in gold was nothing compared to her eyes.

"I dunno, but we'll figure it out."

She closed the remaining gap, smelling the smoke wafting from his tattered rags of clothing. "We've got time now, don't we?"

He nodded, smelling the soot and grime in her hair.

"My brother's dead."

She wrapped her arms around his emaciated middle, feeling his body quivering.

"We're alive," she whispered back. "Together."

He pushed his arms around her, keeping her hands safely enclosed in his own. She didn't mind the close contact. Far from it. She craved it. She missed him terribly the last day, even if he was constantly by her side.

A grumble rattled his chest. "I need you."

She looked up, the angle almost impossible to achieve. "I need you too."

Salt stained brittle lips met hers.

One rogue thought fluttered through her mind before she embraced the feeling.

'Dumbledore was right. This is worth fighting for.'

* * *

_**Post script:**_

* * *

This story was inspired from the events of the last year of my life. I was a caregiver for an Aunt who was hospitalized on Halloween 2011. She walked into the hospital ER – and within hours, was fighting for life with a horrible fever. Doctors were baffled, even while she was fighting renal failure 36 hours later. A cavalcade of doctors and nurses came through those doors, trying to find a reason.

160 hours after she walked into the hospital, she was diagnosed with acute leukemia.

For the next three months, I was by her side almost every day, helping care for her, be her advocate, advocating for her when she was unconscious, encouraging her to continue to live when she awoke two months later, and being the one person she could be mad at when the world wasn't going her way. Nothing says love like "I Hate You" during those first days of physical therapy, getting out of bed for the first time in over seven weeks.

Less than three months after Halloween, she walked out of the rehab center under her own power. Hermione might have recovered faster, and healed quicker, but she was inspired in this story by my Aunt, who fought courageously for eight months – against a disease that usually kills in a month if undetected. Many rule those deaths natural causes, or the flu. Hideous disease.

How Hermione heard the bits and snippets of conversation was how my Aunt came through two months of nightmares and dreamscapes. She said it was angels – only if angels lived on Dr. Pepper and bad pizza for weeks, sitting in a steam room known as a neutropenic ward, celebrating Thanksgiving and Christmas in a sterile hospital. Giving love in such an environment was rewarding like no other.

"Pay it forward" takes on a different connotation when you've seen that much pain and anguish.

As for Ron – well, my cousin - her youngest son - was the one who believed in his Mom and never gave up. He for once had her ear, and he talked it off! Many a night, after the rest of us went home he's sit up with her and talk away. He talks more than Hermione does! Honestly! I like to think he's the reason she lived as long as she did – or finding out later that she was going to be a grandmother by him – his first child.

The Weasleys might have Victorie, but we have our Violet.

* * *

My thanks also to those readers, who slogged through the postscript that was a living adult fairy tale. If I didn't live it, I'd thought it was impossible too.

My thanks to Nellark, being someone to listen; Half-a-Slug for such late night talks; Fangirling4Life for being my youngest fan; MoonWatersLight for the encouragement to update soon; wazlib88 for such insightful analysis, along with thesecondshelf who saw that it was like the Brothers Grimm fairy tales; smkffnut and DaddyRon404 for such encouragement; and all of the others who left reviews that I am missing out on.

I'd also like to thank those who read such a story. I didn't intend this to be this... intense... but the story wrote itself once I got into it. Sometimes, real life is scarier than fantasy. Sometimes, it's not sexy or exciting, but considerably more rewarding.

**_-D.G._**


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